


Never the Same

by thebrighteststar10 (orphan_account)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor Harry Potter, Jealous Draco Malfoy, Jealous Tom Riddle, M/M, Possessive Tom Riddle, Potions Master Draco Malfoy, Tomarry WIP Bigbang 2019, Transfiguration Professor Tom Riddle
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2020-03-17 08:59:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18962068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/thebrighteststar10
Summary: An AU where Tom, Harry and Draco are all young professors at Hogwarts, and where family name is extremely important.Warnings: 1. Characters from different generations in canon are in the same generation in this fic. 2. Family name is very important, much more than it is in canon. You'll see. 3. Tom is not the heir of Slytherin, but he is magically powerful, so much more than in canon. 4. Drarry is not the endgame here. It, however, is not strictly one-sided either. Eventual Tomarry.*Completely re-written on 13 November 2019*





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

The whole school was buzzing with excitement, as first days do. It has been nearly fourteen years since Tom had left this school, and the sight of the Great Hall - magnificient as always - made him slightly nostalgic. As he watched the small heads of first years gawking and chattering as they came closer to where the Sorting Hat was, he had to remember the day he first saw Hogwarts and the Great Hall. Compared to the dull, dreadful orphanage, Hogwarts was what magic was to Tom. Beautiful, astounding, and never disappointing.

 

Tom knew better than to drown himself in sentiments.

 

The reason he was here was not to marvel at the grandiose of the ancient, magical castle of Hogwarts. He was here to recruit, and gain support for his political career.

 

When all the first years arrived at the end of the aisle, waiting to be sorted by the Hat, Tom started to carefully observe each and every one of them. Albeit young, if only they came from the right families, they would be useful for Tom. Them being young was, honestly, more of a bonus. It was always easier to impress, the younger they were.

 

Among all the last names Mcgonagall had called out, two stood out in Tom's mind. Lestrange and Bones. Lestrange was the girl who were quite "unwell," as they would say at the Ministry. Probably due to their massive inbreeding, Tom thought internally, which never left Tom's mouth in actual words, of course. Lestrange was a well-respected family. Inbreeding or not.

 

And there was a Bones among the members of the Wizengamot.

 

The young Bones girl looked terrified, and her red hair made her flushed face look even redder. The Sorting Hat took no more than a few seconds to declare her Hufflepuff.

 

Useless.

 

The only noticeable first year was the Lestrange girl, then, who was sitting proudly at her Slytherin table.

 

As the last sorting finished and everyone eventually ceased clapping and welcoming, Dumbledore stood up and clinked his glass. The magnifying charm made the clinking sound utterly loud and clear, and everyone immediately paid attention. Dumbledore smiled.

 

"Welcme, welcome, everyone. Another day of a new year begins, and I have the highest expectations for every one of you. Details will be explained by our Deputy Headmistress, Minerva Mcgongall."

 

He signed to Mcgonagall, standing beside him. Mcgonagall gave everyone a curt nod.

 

"There are only two things to be in order. First, the forbidden forest is off limits, to everyone who cherish their life."

 

Typical Dumbledore, mentioning forbidden forest and death without any warnings. He could see the confused faces of several first years. They wouldn't know just how... dangerous, Hogwarts actually was.

 

"Second, there are new professors here at Hogwarts. Mr. Riddle, would you stand up for a while?"

 

Dumbledore said, as he tilted his face slightly to see Tom. Tom plasted on the charming smile over which everyone except Dumbledore just swoons, and stood up. He could see half of the school already charmed by his exterior. It was one good thing that was given from his muggle father.

 

"Everyone, I will be your Transfiguration professor from now on. I look forward to meeting you all," announced Tom, voice loud and clear with the magnifying spell.

 

"Thank you, Mr. Riddle. And I have to say this - he is one of the brightest students Hogwarts has ever had. I expect nothing less than excellence from his teachings, and so should you," said Dumbledore. Tom knew it was Tom's time to sit down. Both Tom and Dumbledore knew that the latter's flattering words meant nothing.

 

"Now, we have Mr. Potter. Mr. Potter?" Dumbledore looked around, searching for someone at the professor's aisle. A Potter? Tom knew of the Potter family. They were famous for their wealth which they accumulated from hair products, funnily enough because they have the most untameable hair, and many different innovative medicines they invented throughout generations. Their ancestry was mostly pure-blooded, and the Head Auror was also a Potter.

 

It seemed like his plans for recruitment had some promise, after all.

 

"-Ah, yes, Professor. Sorry I'm late, sir," came the voice behind Tom. Tom turned his face to look back.

 

A boy was there, slightly wet from presumably, rain. His hair was raven black, and it was all over the place. Tom suspected its messiness was not just beause of the rain. Pale, porcelain skin had a tinge of redness in his cheeks, probably because he had been running. He was wearing a dark green robe and it was glaringly obvious that fashion was not his strongest suit.

 

And the eyes. Sweet Salazar. Green, big eyes with long eyelashes behind a round pair of spectacles.

Strikingly beautiful.

 

Suddenly, out of nowhere and to Tom's alarming bewilderment, Tom felt a strong pull of arousal. What would that face look like, with his dick in his mouth? So innocent and child-like, he would turn his beautiful eyes on Tom, cheeks flushed, with one or two tears streaming down his face out of embarassment and arousal. Tom swore under his breath.

 

It was not like himself to have such a strong, immediate attraction. Sex was always a means to get what he wanted, and nothing more.

 

It probably didn't help that the boy was dripping water and panting with a flushed face, almost right next to Tom. Behind Tom was the back door to the Great Hall, which was the door only faculty could use. The Potter boy must have come through that door just now.

 

Tom gritted his teeth as he realised that Dumbledore was regarding Tom's side with interest. Could Dumbledore see this?

 

"It is quite alright, Mr. Potter. Would you introduce yourself, once you take your breath?" said Dumbledore.

 

"Of course, sir. Hi, everyone - my name's Harry Potter. I'll be teaching you Defense Against the Dark Arts."

 

So the boy's name was Harry. Tom reminded himself what he knew and heard of the Potters. James Potter was the Head Auror, and he had a young son who was also an Auror. Tom didn't manage to have much interaction with the Aurors Office just because he was not _allowed_ to. But he still had his ways to gather information. Important information.

 

Harry could be James Potter's son. But then, it meant that the boy was a former Auror - but he didn't look like he fit within the harshness and the brutality the Aurors were required to experience almost daily. He looked - a bit too innocent and carefree for such intense work.

 

And. He was the new professor for the Defense Against the Dark Arts.

 

Interesting.

 

Tom initially wanted the DADA professorship, and he knew that the place had been vacant for several years. There was no better place for Tom to study the Dark Arts without gathering much suspicion, and he could use his place as his recruitments as well, of course. That place would have allowed Tom to observe the students' magical talent regarding the Dark Arts in such a convenient manner.

 

But Dumbledore had rejected him, consistently for the last five years. Furious, Tom was going to curse the place so that nobody could hold that blasted position for more than a year. But as he applied for the last time before cursing it forever, the conversation went a little bit differently. Unlike the usual rejection - I do not think you are experienced enough for the profession, Tom - Dumbledore had said that he had already hired someone else for the place. Tom was enraged, of course, and was about to stand up and curse right away when Dumbledore gave him an alternative. The place for Transfiguration.

 

Ever since Mcgonagall became the Deputy, she had too much work on her hands, and he thought it would be better if she could concentrate on her Deputy matters and they hire a new professor for Transfiguration. Hence, he was asking Tom.

 

Tom was a bit perplexed. He knew Dumbledore kept rejecting him because the old man somehow saw through Tom's intention on being a Hogwarts professor. But why, then, the Transfiguration professorship? Why not reject him altogether, like he's been doing for the past five years? Dumbledore was planning something, for sure. Nonetheless, since being a professor itself was helpful enough for Tom's plans, he had accepted the place. Whatever Dumbledore was planning, Tom could outsmart him.

 

And this boy, who couldn't possibly be any more than twenty-five, _this_ was who Dumbledore thought as suitable for the Defense Against the Dark Arts. Instead of Tom himself.

 

Tom could see Harry Potter moving, to find his seat to be right next to Tom's own. Tom couldn't help himself and stole a glance at him once more. He knew he was lusting after the young boy, out of nowhere.

 

Well, whatever the reason for his unexpected desire was, it wasn't important. What mattered was that, Tom knew that he wanted to fuck the young professor very badly, and he knew just exactly what to do in order to make the other person beg at Tom's knees to fuck him. Tom was attractive, _and_ he was the master of manipulation. What could go wrong?

 

Easy.

 

The Potter family being powerful enough to be useful for Tom's plans was just a bonus.

 

Tom was going to make this young boy fall in love with him, and use that to both take his body and his political power. Plans started devising by itself, in Tom's head.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Harry sat in his seat, quickly casting himself several cleaning and drying charms. He couldn't believe that he looked like a wet dog when he first said his hellos to his soon-to-be students. This was all Sirius' fault, who insisted on him and Harry going on a final adventure before officially retiring from being an Auror. Not only Sirius made Harry wet from rain, but also he made sure that Harry came in late, breathing heavily like a bloody fugitive.

 

At least the welcoming feast was wonderful, as always.

 

"Hello."

 

Deep, velvet voice came from his right side. Harry looked, and was surprised to see a striking man. More beautiful than anyone he's ever met, even. And considering Harry had Sirius as his godfather, it was saying something.

 

"Um, hi," answered Harry. He didn't know Hogwarts started having professors who were good-looking and young. All of them in Harry's years were old and quite frankly, didn't really put much effort into their looks.

 

"My name is Tom Riddle. You are Harry Potter, right?"

 

"Yes, right. Nice to meet you, Tom," said Harry, taking out a hand. Tom looked a bit startled for some reason, but the expression was soon erased from his face as if it were never there. He took Harry's hands, and they were a bit cold.

 

"My pleasure as well." Tom smiled, and it made him look even more debonair.

 

"Mind my curiosity, but why were you wet?"

 

Harry had to grin at this. "Ah, Sirius, my godfather, wanted to go on a little trip with me to the Albanian forest. Before I formally became a professor and all that. And it rained a bit in the forest, so..."

 

"Sirius, as in, Sirius Black?"

 

"Yes, do you know him?"

 

"Not personally, but of course I've heard of him." Tom noticed Harry's grin faltering a bit. He must know the notorious name Sirius Black had made for himself. One needn't be his godson to be aware of it.

 

"My previous occupation was at the Ministry," said Tom. "It's not really much of a surprise that I've heard of the legitimate Black heir."

 

"You haven't heard of his disinheriting, then," answered Harry, putting food on his plate. "Which isn't a secret or anything."

 

"I did manage to catch the news. However, I also know that disinheritance does not work against ancient blood magic. As far as the bloodline's concerned, Sirius Black is the one who will be bequeathed with the Black name."

 

"Huh, well." Harry thinks he'd heard of something like that as well, from Hermione or someone else. "I never really put much thought to that, though. Ancient blood magic... that's not much of an importance when Sirius is forever banned from his own childhood home and the Black Vault."

 

"Perfectly understandable."

 

Harry glanced at Tom's face. His statuesque face betrayed no emotion; just placidness. A comfortable silence of cutting and eating their food followed, before Tom asked:

 

"So I take it that you are James Potter's son?"

 

"Er, right. And I take it," said Harry, mimicking Tom's way of speaking, "that you know this because you worked at the Ministry and heard of my father?"

 

Tom smirked, realising the play of words in an instant. "You are correct."

 

Harry grinned back.

 

"I really shouldn't mention the amount of work your father and your godfather puts on the shoulders of the lowly workers such as myself."

 

"And yet you did," said Harry.

 

"I did," said Tom. "Surely you must know of it as well. You worked for your father after all, have you not?"

 

"I have, and I know."

 

Both of them shared an amused look.

 

Harry was surprised that he was getting along well with Tom. Tom looked several years senior Harry's age, and Harry was sure he must have made a bad impression, coming in late all wet. But it seemed like the man didn't have such a bad first impression on Harry, for whatever reason.

 

Then, Harry remembered.

 

"I know you!" Harry exclaimed, suddenly.

 

Tom raised an eyebrow. letting Harry explain himself.

 

"You're the Slytherin genius, aren't you?"

 

Ah. That. Tom tried to look modest when he answered, "I didn't know my moniker remained even after my graduation."

 

"It did, but I didn't, well, I attended Hogwarts with you."

 

"You did?" Tom was genuinely surprised. Although he wasn't interested much in others, he would've noticed someone with such bright green eyes.

 

More so because he was sure his sexual taste hasn't changed.

 

"I did, well, you were already a sixth year when I was a first year, and you were Slytherin and I was a Gryffindor, so I guess it's not too surprising that we haven't crossed paths."

 

It's possible, surely. Tom did not care much of the younger ones, mostly because they were of no use, and also he never really paid much to the Gryffindors. Hot-headed, sentimental bunch, they were.

 

The way Harry presented himself - complete disregard to his appearances, including his hair and clothes and the old spectacles - and the sparkle in his eyes, showing a stupidly strong will and determination, surely did fit the image of a typical Grryfindor.

 

"I've heard of you when I was in my second year, actually," said Harry, mouth full of food.

 

Tom despised the lack of manner, usually. Now, he wanted to put something else in that mouth.

 

He closed his eyes and banished the image promptly.

 

Harry went on, having no idea of what just went through Tom's mind.

 

"I never saw your face, but I've heard a great deal about you. They said something about you inventing spells and charms, and you doing something with your wand what nobody has ever seen before. Not even Dumbledore."

 

Tom smiled.

 

"You are not wrong."

 

"Arrogant as well, I see," said Harry.

 

Tom, slightly surprised, looked up at Harry's face. Harry was smirking. Well, if this was what Harry like, then Tom wouldn't play the humble card anymore.

 

"It's not exactly something I can control. It's just a natural talent," said Tom, emphasizing the last 't'. "I'm so good at _everything_."

 

Harry laughed, a bit loud this time that others could hear. Tom didn't mind, surprisingly.

 

"You must've also lied when you said you were a lowly worker. Someone like you aren't bound to a lower position. Which department were you in? Surely you must have worked at the DMLE, haven't you?"

 

"I'm afraid not. I was indeed a lowly worker, mind you. The Ministry would not make me anyone of importance simply because of my upbringing."

 

"Your upbringing?" Harry asked, curious. "What do you mean?"

 

"Hogwarts is a place where the family name is of lesser significance, compared to anywhere else in Magical Britain," said Tom. "You mustn't have known too well about this, seeing that you are a Potter with a Black guarding your back. But as a nobody, I have faced quite a lot of discrimination and downright rejection just because of my family name, which is a muggle's name."

 

Harry knew of the existing prejudice, of course, but surely, they would have seen through it because of Tom's genius, haven't they? Not many could compete against Dumbledore's reputation as a wizard, and as far as Harry knew, Tom has been the only one ever.

 

"Not only was Riddle a muggle's name, but I don't have a single living relative in Britain as well, which played heavily against my promotion."

 

"But someone like you- they have Dumbledore as their Chief Warlock, and they constantly ask Dumbledore to take up an office at the DMLE. The things I've heard about you... I just presumed that they'd suck up their stuck-up ideals in the face of someone like you just like they did with Dumbledore."

 

Tom took a moment before answering, trying to appear resigned and unjustly defeated. He knew this was his chance to make the young Potter's sympathy be with him.

 

"I will not deny myself in an attempt of modesty," said Tom. "I have to say my prowess is something that deserves much more. However," Tom made sure he saw Harry in his eyes when he said the following words. "Dumbledore has _friends_ everywhere. I do not."

 

Harry was, actually, spot on with his assessment, except that he kept insisting that Tom was 'almost as good as' Dumbledore. Tom was better than the old man, he was sure of it. If only there was a chance for Tom to prove it...! When the chance arrives, he wouldn't hesitate even for a second to burn the headmaster down to the ground.

 

The part where Harry was precisely right was how the Wizengamot and many others in power has accepted Dumbledore as one deserving the power, yet denied Tom of any. Both were half-bloods, both came from a family lacking of significant political power and history, and both were exceptional with their magic to a level that no ordinary wizard could even dream of. Yet, one of them was in, and the other was banished.

 

Why?

 

Those in power supported Dumbledore because almost all of them and their children went to Hogwarts.

 

Hogwarts was, as Tom told Harry just moments ago, a special place where the prejudice of the magical society was diminished in the face of pure magical talent. School was, by definition, a place where magical precision and ability was the main focus, after all.

 

It is of this very part that Dumbledore took advantage. He consistently denied the Ministry's request for him to take office, even the request for him to be the Minister for Magic - not because he was humble and modest and 'didn't believe himself with power', as the sneaky bastard would say as an excuse every single time, but because he knew that school was where people like him could impress others the most, and henceforth, influence them to be in favour of him.

 

Even the most conservative members of the Wizengamot or their precious offsprings have witnessed Dumbledore's prowess first-hand at Hogwarts. And it did influence them, and the extent they could hold their prejudiced thoughts against his family status.

 

Realising this was what made Tom apply to Hogwarts.

What interest could he ever have in teaching the crowd of incompetent, hormonal teeanagers, other than what Tom could gain from their impressionable minds?

 

"Oh," said Harry, clearly distressed. Tom could practically see what Harry was thinking.

 

"Don't be too upset on my behalf, Harry, although I appreciate the sentiment."

 

 _Do_ get upset, Harry, and be my tool. Do think of this as a noble cause, and not as something for my personal ambition.

 

"But it's so unfair, isn't it?"

 

"I've accepted my place in Hogwarts as a professor." said Tom. He then dropped his eyes, feigning resignation.

 

"No fucking way you have."

 

Tom snorted. The young professor needed to watch his mouth.

 

... maybe for reasons other than disrespectful choices of words, his treacherous mind added.

 

"There has to be something that can be done. You're meant for something great."

 

Tom sighed, and shrugged. He made sure his posture screamed that of the victim of injustice. That would make Harry - and good thing that he was a hot-headed Gryffindor - even more sympathetic towards Tom.

 

After a few seconds of silence he took to emphasize his agony at the current situation, Tom knew it was time to change the subject.

 

"So, Harry, tell me, what was being an Auror like?"

 

The rest of the conversation went as smooth as it could be, very much to Tom's satisfaction.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The feast was over, and as the students left as well as their noise, the Great Hall became silent with only the faculty left. This was something Tom had never experienced before, and it was quite refreshing. The whole Hall empty with the promise to be empty for the rest of the night.

 

Mcgonagall faced the professor's aisle, standing at the podium.

 

"The new professors will be introduced to their rooms by myself and - Professor Malfoy."

 

A Malfoy. A man with an unmistakable white-blond hair at the end of the table nodded.

He was someone Tom had to pay attention to, considering the Malfoy name.

 

"Professor Riddle, follow me. Professor Malfoy, Professor Potter will be taking the room next to you. Show him to his room, would you, professor?"

 

"Sure, Minerva," answered Malfoy. He glanced over to where Harry was.

 

Tom hasn't seen a Malfoy in his Hogwarts years, and unlike he had missed Harry, he sure must have noticed a Malfoy if they'd attended Hogwarts with Tom since Malfoys was known to be Slytherins. The professor looked like he was about Tom's age - then this professor must have attended school overseas. Thinking of the connections the Malfoys had with the French - maybe Beauxbatons, then. Accent was something easily fixed if one had a strict teacher.

 

"Professor Flitwick is on patrol duty tonight, as informed before."

 

The short Charms professor nodded his big half-goblin head. He was Tom's Charms professor as well, back in his school days. People like Flitwick were meant for schools - a half-creature with the absence of amibition and a talent just over-average enough to match it. Tom politely smiled at Mcgonagall as he thought this to himself in disdain.

 

"Professor Riddle, follow me. Other professors, good night," said Mcgonagall. As Tom stood up, he turned to face Harry.

 

"It was nice meeting you, Harry. I had a pleasant evening," said Tom. Other than the evening going exactly as how Tom wanted it to be, it was indeed comfortable, as if they already knew each other before.

 

"Me too, Tom. Good night," said Harry, smiling. The beautiful green eyes showed Harry's honesty in his words at its clearest.

 

"Good night," said Tom, instead of I _want to fuck you on this table until you remember of nothing but my name,_ which was what he wanted to say.

 

The raw, immediate sexual desire was a bit disconcerting. It was something that hasn't happened ever before, not to Tom.

 

All the more reasons to have this Potter heir on his side.

 

Tom took his gaze from Harry's face, and finally followed Mcgonagall to his room.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Harry watched the back of the man who has to be Professor Malfoy. The man, who looked slightly annoyed for some reason Harry didn't have a clue of, curtly nodded at Harry and gestured at him to follow. He then went ahead without a single word.

 

Harry hurriedly scurried behind Malfoy down the familiar hallway.

 

"Professor Malfoy," said Harry, "would you mind slowing down a bit?"

 

The white-blond haired man stopped, and turned around. His eyes then raked through Harry's body, from top to bottom.

 

"I see," said Malfoy.

 

Harry knew when his short stature was being mocked. He was about to retort, but then remembered that he was a professor, and that he had to at least attempt to keep his manners. Hermione's voice of _try to think at least once before you snap at someone, Harry_  rang in his ears.

 

So instead of _Fuck off_ , he said, "I didn't mean we should stand here all night."

 

A look of amusment flicked through the rude git's pointy face.

 

"Then, by all means," said Malfoy, before turning back around and walking off.

 

Harry made sure his _not_ short legs followed the tall prick as much as they could.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Harry Potter - Draco knew of him, of course, he was the half-blood son of James Potter, the current Head Auror. Such things were what filled the Malfoy dinner conversations: who had what kind of power because of what, and who had which connections with whom.

 

Potters had a gread deal of influence over the Ministry via their wealth and their family members' previous (and current) high-profile Ministry positions. And as the only heir of said Potter family, Harry Potter could be someone of an extraordinary status in the magical society, only if he was not a half-blood.

 

But he was.

 

A _filthy_ half-blood, his father would say.

 

Draco gave Potter a curt nod once again in front of Potter's room before turning on his heels and walking away.

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

A month of adjusting flew by. Harry was obviously the youngest of the professors, but the others treated him with respect. It probably helped that they already had Malfoy among the faculty for the last few years- the man was thirty-one, Harry'd heard. With Harry, Tom and Malfoy, the average age of professors was significantly lower, compared to what Harry had when he was at school. The only slightly younger professor he had was Snape, and he was in his early fourties.

 

Others treated him with respect, with the exception of Malfoy. Malfoy was not outright rude or insensible, but he ignored Harry with the touch of contempt every time he had the chance to do so.

 

And the frustrating thing was that, he seemed to actively find the chances to ignore Harry more than he needed to. It was like the man was deliberately looking for instances where he could show Harry how much he didn't approve of him.

 

It bothered Harry slightly, and as soon as he remembered that Malfoys were notorious for their blood supremacist ideologies, he figured out what was going on. Malfoy hated him because he was a half-blood. The professor surprisingly didn't show such disdain to his non-pureblood students, but apparently, since he didn't have a professional duty to be non-discriminatory to Harry, he was going to let his foul prejudice free, out and about, when it came to dealing with Harry.

 

Harry was used to people like that.

 

The previous morning was an instance of Malfoy going out of his way to find Harry and agressively ignore him. Harry was at the Hall, having his breakfast with Tom - who had become an enjoyable company to Harry in the past month - and laughing at Tom's sardonic jokes. The Slytherin genius was very good with his words. Very, very good.

 

"Professor Riddle," said a voice behind their backs.

 

Both of them turned their heads around to see who was behind them.

 

There stood Malfoy, pointedly ignoring Harry with his eyes looking at Tom only. It was a difficult thing to do, considering how they were sitting right next to each other.

 

"I require your assistance in answering a certain question about the Patronus charm."

 

The Patronus charm was, not only something in Harry's area of professorship, but also something that Harry was quite famous of, as him being the youngest wizard in history to produce a corporeal Patronus - it was at his age of thirteen. That was no secret among Hogwarts members, especially since Harry had to demonstrate the Patronus charm less than a week ago out of need in front of the whole school, and soon after, Dumbledore had reminded everyone of that fact.

 

But here was Malfoy, deliberately asking Tom in the middle of Tom and Harry's conversation, of the Patronus charm. It was an act of provocation, Harry knew it.

 

"I'm sure it's Professor Potter's area of expertise," said Tom, his face polite yet decisive.

 

Malfoy flinched at the unexpected response.

 

Harry glared at Malfoy, daring him to ask Harry the question. Malfoy all but glanced at Harry's face once, before mumbling: "Never mind," and going back to his seat.

 

Tom merely raised an eyebrow at Malfoy's childish actions before resuming their conversation. Harry followed suit, although it was bothering him still on the inside.

 

The reason Malfoy bothered Harry a little more this time than usual was that, the encounter reminded Harry of a certain fact: even though Tom was also a half-blood, Malfoy did not actively antagonize Tom as much as he did with Harry. Such fact apparently was proven to be somewhat true when Malfoy decided to at least partake in a conversation with Tom just now, even it was just to deliberately annoy Harry.

 

When it came to what made Malfoy to specifically hate on Harry, apart from having 'impure blood,' Harry did not have a clue.

 

Prick.

 

Harry was, however, better than to let someone like that ruin his experience at Hogwarts. Hogwarts was his favourite place in the whole world, after all - this was his home. When Dumbledore offered Harry the DADA professorship, Harry took it rather than to continue his work as an Auror solely because of how much he loved Hogwarts. He wanted the school experience, at least a couple of years more. He could go back to being an Auror after that, or not - he would wait and see how things pan out.

 

And Hogwarts didn't disappoint him. The wonderful food that Harry could have any time of the day thanks to the elves, the old and ancient school walls with deep, old and heavy yet fantastic secrets they had within, and the lake running through the field lying across the back of the school - on which had Hagrid's house - and the magnificient night sky... among all of them, most importantly, were all of the memories of his childhood with his friends, on every brick and every grass of the Hogwarts grounds.

 

He loved it.

 

Harry also realised what kind of task it was to be on night duty as a professor, rather than as a sneak-out student. 'A quite refreshing experience,' he'd say to Dumbledore if he asked, but in reality, Harry was really, really bored. The thrill of sneaking around under his invisibility cloak with the Maruader's Map on his hand was something spectacular, compared to the dull, sleepy professor patrols he had to take around the designated places of the castle. He hoped he'd encounter a student, but he had none, at least when it was his turn to be on night duty.

 

The students loved Harry, or at least that was the impression Harry had, because some giggled when they saw Harry turning corners, and some greeted Harry when they saw Harry in the distance, instead of avoiding Harry like Harry did as a student whenever he saw a glimpse of Snape.

 

Harry tried his best to follow Remus' way of teaching, which was the most fun he'd ever had from a professor. His DADA classes were therefore, filled with practices using boggarts and real wands, along with occasional readings and essays.

 

Speaking of practices with boggarts.

 

This morning, Harry was in the middle of teaching the class of the _Ridikkulus_ charm, when there was a knock at the door. There hasn't been any interruptions in his class for the past month, not until now. Curious, Harry told the class to practice on the wand movement and opened the door himself.

 

Malfoy was waiting at the other side, nervousness written all over his face.

 

"What is it?" asked Harry, sensing that something was wrong.

 

"Your assistance is required immediately. One of my students have foolishly tried some dark magic in their potions," answered Draco, in one breath, as if he'd practiced the sentence in his head before.

 

"What?"

 

Harry wasn't exactly asking. He called the Hufflepuff prefect in his class and gave him directions for the rest of the class to follow in his absence, and hurriedly left the class with Malfoy at his side.

 

"You should've just come in without knocking, you know, this is quite an emergency," said Harry, while running to the Potions classroom.

 

"Well, it's just... the manners, they're ingrained in me," answered Malfoy, between breaths.

 

It was the first time Malfoy spoke to him with no apparent disdain.

 

Still, there was no time to dwell on that fact. Harry ran as fast as he could until he finally reached Malfoy's classroom, next to the dungeons. The DADA classroom was definitely too many stairs up high.

 

When Harry went in, he could see a crowd of students around one particular student. When they saw Malfoy and Harry, they parted to make way. Harry went thorugh them, and saw one student with massive black, curly hair, covering her face with her hands. She was desperately trying not to show her face to anyone else.

 

"Ms. Lestrange," said Malfoy, "You have to show Professor Potter your face." His voice was chastising, and although he tried not to show his anxiousness, it was clear in the way he bit his lower lip.

 

"No!" The girl cried. "I will not! I will rather DIE!" She then wailed, "Leave me alone!"

 

Harry noticed the girl's voice - Bellatrix Lestrange. She was... she was very _particular_ , Tom would say to him. The little girl was only a first year. A first year playing with the Dark Arts already. Particular indeed.

 

"Ms. Lestrange, you may lose your face permanently if you put on with this nonsense any longer."

 

Malfoy's whole body was stiff. It was clear he didn't know how to handle kids like Bellatrix.

 

"NO!" screamed Bellatrix, Malfoy's threat obviously throwing her in a more frenzied state. Now there was a fear of losing her face permanently added to the excruciating pain she must be having.

 

Bellatrix stomped on her feet, her screams getting only louder and squeakier. "LEAVE ME ALONE!" She managed to yell between wails.

 

Malfoy was lost. He did not know what to do. He thought of what his parents did when he disobeyed them - they disciplined him with physical punishment. Was that what he had to do?

 

Harry knew he was running out of time. Promptness was the key when it came to Potions wrongly infused with Dark Magic.

 

"Malfoy, let me take care of this, will you?" asked Harry. After only a short moment, Malfoy nodded.

 

"Bellatrix, this is professor Potter," said Harry, in the calmest voice he could make. "Can you hear me?"

 

The soothing voice that wasn't scolding in any way made Bellatrix stop crying out loud. Slowly, her cries died down. After being still for a few seconds, she nodded.

 

"I'm here to heal you. Now, I know you don't want to show your face to anyone else. Why don't we go outside, and you can show it only to me?" asked Harry.

 

The girl sniffled, and in a muffled voice, she answered, "Only to you, professor?"

 

"Only to me. And I promise, I will not say anything about it to anyone else."

 

Bellatrix slowly nodded again with her face in her hands.

 

Harry took the little girl in his arms, and let her bury her face in Harry's chest. He wished he was a big bigger, especially in situations like this.

 

He carefully took her outside, making sure that he didn't move too hastily to provoke the girl's anxiety. He could hear the sounds of other students whispering about her. He closed the classroom door, which effectively sealed all of the noise. Harry knew some students were still trying to take a peek through the door.

 

He moved to a nearby classroom. Thank Merlin it was empty - the classroom was, despite being an underground room, had windows with magical sunlight plastered onto them. He put Bellatrix down on a desk, and she immediately covered her face as soon as she was let down. Harry closed the door, cast a silencing charm, and charmed the windows completely opaque so that no one could see through them. He then conjured several candlelights - they were the only lights remaining.

 

"Bellatrix," said Harry. "I've charmed the classroom so no sound nor vision can escape from here. Now, will you show me your face, please?"

 

Bellatrix was quiet for a second, not moving at all.

 

"I made sure nobody can look," said Harry, again.

 

"But," the girl mumbled, hesitant. "I don't want you to think me as ugly."

 

"I've seen much, much worse, Bellatrix. You know I was an Auror, right? This would be nothing. I wouldn't think you as ugly. Promise."

 

"Promise?"

 

"Promise. Will you now let me see that pretty face of yours?" asked Harry.

 

Bellatrix slowly moved her hands away from her face.

 

Half of her face, except for her eyes, has almost melted. It looked grotesque, but Harry made sure not to flinch even for a second. He'd seen far worse on many people, so it wasn't too difficult.

 

He could guess what happened - Bellatrix probably, instead of using the standard heating spell, tried a heating jinx that resembled Fiendfyre. It was undoubtedly an extremely dangerous thing to do.

 

"It must've hurt terribly, hasn't it?"

 

"Yes. It still does. It burns. Help me, please," said Bellatrix, on the verge of tears.

 

Harry gave Bellatrix his left arm to hold - he just needed his right arm. "Grab this, it might hurt a bit." She held onto it tightly, anticipating the pain that was coming.

 

" _finire tenebris_."

 

Harry whispered, as he moved his wand delicately with his right hand.

 

Bellatrix shrieked, voice so high and sharp that it felt like it could shatter Harry's silencing charm, albeit realistically impossible. Harry could feel her fingernails digging into his left arm, but he could not stagger, not when the spell needed intricate and precise movements. So he endured. One, or maybe two minutes filled with screams and the smell of burning skin passed.

 

It was over. A success.

 

Her face gradually came back to what it was. Feeling her skin harden again, she let go of Harry's arm at once and started to touch her face, warily at first with her fingertips, and then touching it again and again.

 

"It's back! It's back! It's back, right?" She screamed.

 

"Yes, Bellatrix. It's back. You are beautiful like your name suggests," answered Harry, smiling. His left arm had scars scattered across from her fingernails, and it stung, but he could manage. Bellatrix beamed, her eyes welling up with tears of joy. Without any warning, she lunged herself at Harry, hugging the professor tightly.

 

"Thank you, professor Potter," said Bellatrix, at Harry's neck.

 

"It's all right. Would you like to see yourself in a mirror?"

 

The young girl nodded enthusiastically. Harry conjured a hand mirror and handed it to her. As she saw her reflection, she was filled with joy.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Harry went back to his class, and dismissed them a bit earlier than usual. Whatever time left was a bit too short to be of any use. Students were thrilled to have a bit of a free time, and they all rushed outside. Harry was organizing the day's material when Malfoy came in.

 

"Potter."

 

Startled, Harry looked up. He didn't catch the sound of Malfoy coming in.

 

"Malfoy," he replied, not knowing why Malfoy was here. "Everything went all right?"

 

"Yes," said Malfoy, curtly. After a few seconds, he added, "Thanks to you." He looked a bit embarrassed.

 

Harry had to smirk at this. Malfoy, of all people, was thanking him.

 

"I do not know why I came to you first rather than going straight to Madam Pomfrey, _mais_ , it was Dark Magic, and you are teaching the defense against it, so..."

 

Malfoy then continued giving his excuses - _if you can't heal basic Dark Magic, then you shouldn't call yourself doing a Defense against it, what is the point of Defense if you can't fix it after it happened? If that is not the point of calling it a Defense, then why the hell does this school have the Defense against the Dark Arts as its subject name, why not just the Dark Arts and have a Duelling class instead like Durmstrung does_ \- and Harry listened to it, dumbfounded. He wasn't even thinking about the reason for Malfoy coming straight to Harry.

 

As Malfoy moved on to talk about the Beauxbatons and started speaking more French and less English, Harry knew he had to stop it now.

 

"Wait- Malfoy, Stop!"

 

Malfoy stopped, mid-sentence.

 

"It wasn't a problem. You don't have to explain yourself. And I also think I'll be a better match for things like that than Madam Pomfrey is, to be honest. It's not a regular injury. So you guessed it right."

 

A minute or two of silence passed between the two. Malfoy was standing there, staring at Harry with his mouth slightly open, and Harry was just being at the end of the stare, not knowing what to do.

 

"Right," said Harry, finally breaking the silence.

 

"Right," answered Malfoy. "So, I will be going."

 

The way Malfoy held his whole body stiff, and his impeccably styled clothes and hair with the way he talked had to make Harry say:

 

"You don't have to announce your leaving like that. You're not the bloody Queen."

 

The moment those words left his lips, Harry regretted them. Malfoy was trying to be less of an arsehole and Harry had to ruin it with a stupid joke. Hermione's voice of _think before you speak, for Merlin's sake Harry_ rang in his ears.

 

Malfoy looked startled, at first. However, after a few more seconds of awkward staring, he answered, "I am something close to the bloody Queen. Do you know just how many times the Minister visits our manor, Potter?"

 

Now it was Harry's turn to be surprised. Malfoy did know how to take a joke, after all.

 

"That's because the Malfoys are the best at kissing arse."

 

"Potter!"

 

And just when Harry was sure that Malfoy was offended by now, he surprised Harry once again.

 

"You are a Professor now, not an Auror. Watch your language."

 

Harry had to laugh at this. While laughing, out of the corner of his eyes, he could see Malfoy's stone-cold face moving and forming the faint shape of a smile.

 

 

* * *

 

 

When Harry stepped out of his office for lunch, he saw Tom right in front of it, leaning against the balustrade. He wondered if Tom knew how good he looked, leaning against something with an impassive expression on his face, idly waiting for Harry. The tall, well-built body was just in a perfect pose, waiting for onlookers to admire it. He must know, right?

 

"Harry," said Tom, noticing Harry. "Ready for lunch?"

 

"Yes Merlin. I'm starving."

 

Both of them headed for the Great Hall. The corridor was empty - most of the students must be at lunch, thought Harry. It was nice for Tom to wait for him. It seemed like the professors usually took whatever time they had for lunch, and the elves brought food to their rooms if they requested. Still, both Tom and Harry has made it somewhat of a routine for the past month, of waiting for each other before meals, except for breakfast.

 

The Hall was loud with students chattering and tableware clinking. They both went into the professor's entrance, and took the seats next to each other.

 

Half into their lunch, Tom asked, "I heard you had an incident today with Ms. Lestrange."

 

Words indeed moved fast in Hogwarts. That was just this morning.

 

"Yes I did. Well, actually, Malfoy had an incident and he asked for my help."

 

Tom raised an eyebrow.

 

Harry liked it when Tom did that. He liked it maybe a bit too much.

 

"I know," said Harry, trying to avoid Tom's eyes to hide his blush, "Malfoy asking for my help isn't something that happens every day. But he did because it had to do with Dark Magic, and, well, I helped."

 

"I'm pretty sure it had to do with healing her face, at least that's what the first years told me."

 

"I'd say they're right."

 

"Well, in that case, I didn't know DADA meant healing as well. I always thought it was more of a combat-spell subject."

 

"You know that it doesn't include healing, Tom," said Harry. "I just know a couple of healing spells because I couldn't go to St. Mungos every time I got hurt when I had a criminal to catch. Or when my partner got hurt, too."

 

Tom hummed, before saying, "Auror - a dangerous position indeed, isn't it?"

 

"Indeed," replied Harry.

 

Dangerous, but exciting.

 

"What made you abandon such an exciting life? I'm presumably not your best friend, but from what I've seen in the past month, you sure are someone who would enjoy a good adventure."

 

"I am, but it's because-"

 

 _It's because Dumbledore asked me to_ , Harry almost said. But then, he remembered that Dumbledore specifically told him not to tell anyone of him offering the job. As far as everyone knows, it was Harry who applied first. That's how it was supposed to be. When Harry asked Dumbledore the reason behind the secrecy, he simply said, _Jealousy is an ugly thing, Harry_.

 

Harry just assumed that it meant people wouldn't like Dumbledore offering jobs first to someone so young and inexperienced as Harry, out of jealousy.

 

Tom didn't seem to be type to be jealous. He didn't have to.

 

Still, Harry decided against speaking openly about it. Dumbledore specifically asked him not to, and Harry would try to keep his promise, no matter how bad he was, naturally, at keeping secrets.

 

"I, um. I loved Hogwarts, and I just wanted to have some more time here. Auror was fun, sure, but it was always crashing here or there, running after or away from someone constantly. That, or it was paperwork." Harry frowned. "The worst. Anyways, I wanted some time away from all that and some time here. At Hogwarts, where I consider to be my home."

 

"And I thought you had a lovely home, with your-" Tom gestured mindlessly with his hand. "With your father and their friends, including your godfather."

 

"I do. Sirius and Remus are the best."

 

"But you still consider Hogwarts to be your home? I didn't realise this school had that much appeal to someone like you."

 

Harry glanced over at Tom, eyes narrowed playfully. "What do you mean, someone like me?"

 

"Someone who had a lovely home and a wonderful family, waiting for you during the holidays and welcoming you at the train station at the end of each semester."

 

"Oh."

 

Harry went silent for a few seconds. Tom was right and wrong at the same time. He didn't know how much he could say without burdening Tom of too much family history.

 

"I do have all of that now, but I didn't when I was young," started Harry. "I lost my mum when I was one year old, and I practically have no memory of her."

 

Except the one where she screams in front of baby Harry, dying at the end of a green curse.

 

"I'm sorry to hear that," said Tom, immediately. He looked genuinely sorry.

 

"It's all right. Anyways, I had my dad, but he was not around until I was like, fifteen. He paid others to take care of me, and I was always left alone. Sirius was wrongfully convicted and was spending time in Azkaban, as you may know, and Remus was busy tracking down evidence that would set Sirius free."

 

Tom stopped eating and turned his face to meet Harry's eyes.

 

"My dad couldn't care for me because according to him, I had my mother's eyes, and it hurt him too much to even look at me because I reminded him of her every time he saw me. I didn't understand him when I was young, and I thought he just- well, I thought he just hated me and that was just all an excuse. So I tried my best to prove myself for him to accept me. None of my efforts worked, and I was terribly lonely."

 

"You must have been," said Tom.

 

"Yes, I was. Basically, that made me consider Hogwarts something of a home, you see. People accepted me here, friends and professors loved me for who I am, and I could prove myself as much as I wanted to. There wasn't someone waiting for me at the train station. I spent the holidays with my friend's family, and I met that friend at Hogwarts. Their house felt more like home."

 

After that, Harry went back to his food. He didn't know what Tom would think of all this, but he felt like he could talk to Tom about these stuff. Tom has been nothing but cordial and friendly with him for the past month.

 

"Thank you for telling me all this, Harry," said Tom.

 

"I hope I didn't bore you with all the details."

 

"No, you haven't."

 

Then, silence. Both of them attacked their food, and had their own thoughts as they did so.

 

"I consider Hogwarts my home as well," said Tom, suddenly.

 

"You do?"

 

"Yes. Not many know about this, and I expect you to keep this a secret."

 

Harry turned his head around to see Tom's face. Tom's eyes were intent, asking Harry to make a promise.

 

"I will," said Harry.

 

"Good."

 

Tom lowered his gaze, blankly staring at the corner of his plate.

 

"I was raised in an orphanage, because my father abandoned my mother and me. My mother died seconds after giving birth to me, and I became the burden of the muggle orphanage that let my mother give birth."

 

Harry's eyes widened. Tom continued, not seeing Harry's reaction.

 

"I had no family. My mother's family were all dead by the time I was fifteen, and my father's family denied my very existence. I had to go back to the orphanage every time they closed Hogwarts for the holidays. I hated it."

 

Tom then stopped talking, and resumed eating, as if he hadn't said anything so massively depressing and personal.

 

Harry looked for words.

 

"I can't imagine what you had gone through," were the ones he chose.

 

"No, you can't," came Tom's reply. "But the experience does not affect me anymore, so you needn't think too much of it. I just wanted to share something of mine, since you cared to do so for me."

 

"Thank you for doing that, then. I appreciate it. A lot."

 

"You're very welcome."

 

Tom looked at Harry as he said it, and Harry looked back. Tom's beautiful face with his intense burgundy eyes carried a weight that made Harry realise that, they grew so much closer in the past hour than they have in the past month.

 

Seconds passed as they looked into each other's eyes. It broke when Professor Sprout, who was sitting next to Harry, dropped her knife.

 

The loud, clinking sound startled both of them.

 

"Ooh, sorry, professors, I must've tried too hard on today's Snargaluff, oh my-"

 

She said as she charmed the knife up from the ground. It then started to float all its way to the kitchen, which looked just flat out ridiculous. The students pointed at it, giggling as it passed them.

 

Harry looked back at Tom with an amused look on his face. Tom seemed to share the emotion.

 

"Now that that's out of the way," said Tom, not specifying which was the event that they had it out of their way - their depressing childhood or Professor Sprout's knife?- "would you like to listen to what happened in my class when one of my students tried to transfigure a cup into a clock?"

 

"I've never been more curious," said Harry, taking his chance right away.

 

The rest of the lunch was like the usual, but Harry was sure he wasn't mistaken when he felt they sat a bit closer to each other than they did before.

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

"Today's lesson is of the vanishing spell. Can anyone in this class tell others what it is?"

 

Tom asked as he stood in front of the class, regarding the crowd of fifth year Hufflepuffs and Slytherins. He silently detested this class just because orange and green looked atrocious together, asthetically speaking.

 

Two girls giggled in the corner of Tom's eyes. Tom knew exactly what was going on between them - they have been exchanging notes from the start of the class, and he didn't have to confiscate and read them aloud to know what they said. He'd already did with a variety of those, several times in the past month. The notes that talked about how attractive Tom was.

 

Tom let it slide. He'd take admiration where it was due.

 

One of the boys held their hand up.

 

"Yes, Mr. Diggory?"

 

A pureblood only child from the Diggory family, whose father worked at DRCMC, but under a different division from Tom's. Tom heard of him - not politically significant in any way, but it wouldn't hurt to earn the boy's trust.

 

"I believe it is simply a spell to vanish almost anything into nothingness, sir," said Diggory.

 

"Correct. Do you know the incantation to it?"

 

"Yes, sir. _Evanesco_ , sir."

 

"Correct again. Five points to Hufflepuff." Other Hufflepuffs around the Diggory boy gave him a quiet cheer.

 

"The vanishing spell is very simple, because you need not know more than one spell for vanishing almost anything. Notwithstanding its lack of variations, however, it is not an easy spell since you have to be precise with your wand and your weight distribution. Watch."

 

Tom gestured his wand at the snake coiled in front of him.

 

Oh, this was something he'd enjoy as well.

 

" _Evanesco_."

 

 The snake started to disappear from its tail. It twisted in pain. Some students gasped in horror.

 

"You wouldn't need me to warn you how dangerous this spell is. It has not yet been revealed if vanished objects can come back or not, so only use this spell on smething you are sure that you want it gone forever."

 

Tom wouldn't tell them, of course, that he had managed to make parts of the vanished artifacts come back into existence. Not yet. He would show them later in class, feigning modesty.

 

"I will conjure a snail for each of you to practice. Snails have simpler body structures compared to others, which make them easier for us to vanish."

 

Tom continued explaining while he swifted his wand to conjure one big snail in frnt of each student. All of it was done in a simple, elegant and wordless way - the students naturally looked at Tom in awe.

 

Magic was always so easy for Tom.

 

One of the students raised her hand.

 

"Yes, Ms. Parkinson?"

 

Pansy Parkinson was the student's name, Tom remembered. She was a pureblood Slytherin who was fiercely loyal to the traditional values, which were in other words, blood-and-family-name traditions. It was unexpected that she was among the lead admirers of Tom, who was not only a half-blood, but came from a family of nobody. But then again, that was the point of dealing with teeanagers; they were so much more impressionable than the old conservatives at the Ministry.

 

"S, Sir, I think your conjuring skills are magnificient," said Parkinson, in a trembling voice.

 

Tom gave her a charming smile.

 

Of course he was. He didn't need anyone to tell him that, especially not a stupid fifteen year-old kid whose only life achievement was taking what their bigoted family practically spoon-fed her.

 

"Thank you, Ms. Parkinson. You will learn conjuring charms on your next year. Now, I'd like you to work in pairs, and start practicing. Keep in mind the wand movement drawn in your textbooks. Start now, everyone."

 

The sound of students practicing soon filled the classroom. Tom didn't miss the students stealing glances at Tom as he walked near students, supervising. Everything was going according to his plan.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

When class was finished and Tom dismissed them, he heard of several of the packing students discussing something about 'Potter', presumably Harry. Curious, he listened in, inconspicuously.

 

"-Dumbledore's Army?"

 

"Yeah, I heard that too- Potter was a former Auror, did y'know that?"

 

"No way. We _have_ to get into that club. It's going to be so cool!"

 

"What club?"

 

Sudden interruption from Tom startled the students, who were paying no mind to Tom up until then. They gaped at Tom, who was expecting answers without giving any further explanations as to what he was doing.

 

One of the students gathered the courage to talk.

 

"Uh... sir, we heard Pot- Professor Potter was going to open a duel club."

 

"And the club's name is _Dumbledore's Army_?" asked Tom, raising his eyebrow in disbelief. The name was disgusting.

 

Another student hurriedly took it from there. "No, sir. That was the name of the duelling club that existed some time ago, and I heard Professor Potter was the one who made it, as a student here. This time around, we don't know the name of the club, but we're pretty sure he's doing it and it looks like it's going to be pretty exciting."

 

Tom hummed.

 

"That does sound exciting, indeed. You're all free to go, gentlemen. Apologies for eavesdropping."

 

The dazzling smile he put on his face until the very last moment were dropped as soon as they were out the door.

 

A duelling club. How interesting.

 

It was only fitting that Harry, as someone who has proven himself to be exceptional in DADA from a young age, has created a duelling club when he was only a student. But 'Dumbledore's Army?' Surely Harry was close with Dumbledore - Tom could see that from occasional eye contacts over the meals and the way Harry talks fondly about the old man. However, Tom didn't know just how loyal Harry was to the old headmaster. Tom did mull over the possibility of Dumbledore having Harry as a spy for Tom several times, but every time he did that, he ended up denying it just because Harry was a shitty actor. The young man could not lie for his life.

 

In any case, Tom would never miss the chance of seeing Harry Potter in a duel. He's wondered about Harry's powers, not only because he has heard many rumours about his prowess especially in combat but also because he could sense a large concentration of magical power boiling inside of the younger professor whenever he was near Harry. It was so unlike how Harry presented himself - a bit messy, carefree, and as if he was the most ordinary person in the room - while in reality, he was laughing so hard at his students' stupid jokes and the next second, he wandlessly shielded himself from falling down from his chair. And all that was done seamlessly like a knee-jerk reaction, and after he's done it, he didn't even realise he's done something virtually impossible to do by most wizards and witches.

 

Extraordinary, without a doubt. Although, Tom was sure, that no one came even close to his own.

 

Tom sat in his office that was at the back of the classroom. The irony of occupying the room Dumbledore once did, while trying to do what Dumbledore has achieved - gathering power and support from younger generations - made him genuinely dislike the room, no matter how he tried to decorate the place as his. However, the one good thing about the Transfiguration Professor's office was that it came with many rare books on Transfiguration. Tom was never someone who turned down a great book, no matter who the previous owner of it was.

 

He picked _The Commentary on Five Possible Transfigurations and Two Impossible Transfigurations of XXXXX level Beasts_ and resumed from where he last stopped.

 

 

* * *

 

 

By now, Harry was used to waking up alone in his Professor's room, get dressed and meet Tom at the Great Hall. Tom was always there first, already had food on his plate, leaving the seat next to him vacant for Harry. Contrary to how Harry looked by then - messy hair that has been tamed to the bare requisite as Professor, sleepy eyes desperate for coffee - Tom always looked perfect, from head to toe. His posture was perfect, even. Harry wondered how he'd do it.

 

He dragged his sleepy body across the hall and opened the faculty door, which led directly to professor's table. The students were already chatting and eating, and Tom was sitting where he always sat - as far away as he could from Dumbledore.

 

"You seem happy," said Tom as Harry plopped down next to him.

 

"And you think you're funny."

 

Tom snorted in response. Harry looked at Tom, and the two exchanged amused looks before they started on their food.

 

Harry nibbled on his brioche as he absently thought about his new duelling club. It started in a few days. There was a perfect place right next to the Potions classroom - Harry has heard that Ms. Merrythought had used it for the duelling club years ago. While he himself had used the Room of Requirement when he made Dumbledore's Army, he didn't want to use that this time because he wanted the Room to remain in secret.

 

The exercises they'd do in the club would be pretty much what Harry did with the DA. They will have some volunteer students duel against one another, and Harry would comment on their spells. Maybe show them a couple or two. The ground rules must be clearer and punishments for their violations must be stricter, because unlike the DA, it was not a gathering of close friends who shared similar objectives. There were old rivals among the students, and many who had affinity with the Dark Arts.

 

"What's on your mind today?" asked Tom, breaking their comfortable silence.

 

"Oh, not much. The duelling club, mostly."

 

"Hm. The excitement around it is very noticeable among students, I must say."

 

Harry looked at Tom, surprised. "Really? I didn't know it'd be much of a big deal."

 

"They are teenagers. They want to fight, Harry. It's in their instincts," said Tom as he winked at Harry.

 

Merlin's boggly jiggly balls.

Harry avoided Tom's eyes. He could feel his blush coming up. Why did Tom have to look that good, at eight o' clock in the fucking morning?

 

"The fact that you are a charming, young ex-auror is obviously a giant bonus for them."

 

It didn't help with Harry's blushing. He turned his eyes back to his plate from Tom, trying to hide his face. What Harry didn't know, however, was the tip of his ears tinged pink. Tom felt quite a bit of pleasure, knowing that he did have the effect he intended on Harry. And the ears were, well, something others would call adorable.

 

"I, er. I don't know about that," said Harry, fumbling at his half-eaten brioche. "I try my best to give them opportunities for actual magic practice, but I sometimes wonder if I'm too biased against written materials. Hermione always says books can teach you something you can't learn by experience."

 

"I wouldn't disagree." By now, Tom has heard quite a bit about this 'Hermione,' as well as he did with 'Ron,' 'Ginny,' 'Neville,' 'Fred and George' and 'Luna'. "Your friend must be very wise, the way she frequently talks about books and knowledge."

 

"She is," said Harry. He suddenly realised that he's been smiling at the memory of her. "She'd be a much better professor than I'd ever be."

 

"Don't sell yourself short," replied Tom, instantly. "Students love your class, and I admire your ways of teaching."

 

"It's nothing original, really." Harry was now scratching the back of his head. Tom had noticed also, that that was one of the many habits Harry had whenever he got a compliment from anyone.

 

"You should learn how to take a compliment, once in a while," said Tom.

 

Harry glanced at Tom, who looked amused.

 

"Easy for you to say," said Harry. "Everyone compliments you whenever they have the chance."

 

Tom smirked. "That isn't exactly false."

 

Harry laughed. Tom followed with a bigger smirk.

 

Another morning of Hogwarts was starting, and Harry felt good about it. In a few months, however, Harry would look back to this exact moment, and wonder how foolish he'd been. How naive he's been, not noticing a single glance from someone who must have been watching them the whole time.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The second period was over, and the third-year Slytherins and Gryffindors were now swarming outside of Harry's classroom. Today's lesson was on shielding charms, which wasn't something that Harry was good at when he had first learned it at year five. Harry was always best at putting his determination in spells, and shields were a bit more sophisticated than just willpower - it needed skill, patience, and elaborate control. However, he grew better and better at it the more he practised, and it sure did save Harry's and others' lives multiple times when he worked as an Auror.

 

These were the reasons that made Harry include the shielding charms in the third-year curriculum. He thought it'd be best if they learned about it earlier, so that they could practise more before they had to face the world outside Hogwarts.

 

But, as it turned out, that it was maybe just a bit too difficult for third-years. Harry was thinking of substituting the class period designated for the shielding charms with stunning charms instead.

 

The last student left, and Harry was free for a whole period. Harry had essays to mark and homeworks to review, but neither of them were what Harry wanted to do right now. Instead, he went over to one of the windows that showed the courtyard. It was one of his favourite sights of Hogwarts. He distinctly remembered the first time he flied on a broom - it was on that exact place.

 

As he fondly remembered the memory of Ron getting hit by his broom multiple times, he noticed a tall figure walking across the yard. Harry could almost instantly realise who it was: it was Tom. What Tom was doing at the garden - Harry didn't know.

 

Tom was headed outside, it seemed. Probably to where the Forest was, for whatever reason.

 

The way Tom walked made Harry feel a little bit too excited. That man was something that Harry would see in his dreams. Harry tried to erase the vivid image of Tom's beautiful burgundy eyes out of his mind. It didn't work. Wind blew slightly against Tom's robes, tastefully accentuating his broad shoulders and sculptured body.

 

Harry bit his lower lip. He had learned that he was sexually attracted to both male and female after he broke up with Ginny. However, it didn't mean that he had much intimate relations with any of those sex, just because the Auror life was impossibly draining. No Auror had the energy for something more than a one night stand, even for those who were married - divorce was not surprising when all they did was go away for months only to come back home for a couple of nights. Harry's few relationships were all shattered, precisely beacuse of this.

 

Most of his sexual pursuits were at the bar, drunk, and embarassing morning-afters. He hated the bitter taste it left in his mouth whenever he had to shower and run out of someone's house who Harry didn't even remember the name of. He disliked the way he used the other only as a means to his end - it always hit Harry back with the empty, hollow feeling after he climaxed. A repeat of that for several years, and Harry had eventually stopped.

 

And here he was, filled with pent-up sexual and romantic energy, he was now close colleagues with Adonis incarnated. What's worse - this Adonis was not only unbeliveably good-looking, but he was smart, powerful, kind, charming and although he might not show it explicitly, sweet.

 

Harry had to admit that he had a crush on Tom.

 

Oh, this was going to be a nightmare, he thought. He was not a teenager anymore, yet he had a fucking crush. A crush on someone who he had to face daily, and who apparently considered him as a good friend. His life couldn't have turned more into a cliche.

 

Harry moved away from the window as Tom disappeared out of vision. He was going to ignore it, of course. He wouldn't ask Tom out on a date just because he didn't want to risk their blooming friendship. He liked and admired Tom very much, and he wasn't going to ruin it beacuse of some superficial crush. It was an easy decision to make. Harry sat down, ready to mark essays.

 

 

* * *

 

 

While Harry was letting the students practise by themselves, Mcgonagall stopped by.

 

"Professor Potter," said Mcgonagall. "Madam Hooch needs assistance for her flying instructions. I recommended you. I remember that you were quite an impressive seeker."

 

"Thank you, Deputy Headmistress," said Harry. Mcgonagall's monotone observation was probably the highest praise one could get from her, he thought to himself.

 

She regarded Harry's answer with nothing but a curt nod. "Now, I will soon send you your schedules, but you have to assist her from today. Before dinnertime, find Madam Hooch nearhe broom shed. She needs someone who knows our brooms well enough to fix some of the broken ones."

 

When Harry was about to answer in concern that he knew next to nothing of fixing broken brooms, she added, "You are not fixing anything. Ask your remaining questions to Madam Hooch, Professor."

 

And with that, she was gone. Harry was a bit confounded, but he resumed supervising the class.

 

After one class, two disasters and one free period later, it was time for him to go to the broom shed. Tom was already waiting for him out of his office, leaning against the banister.

 

"Tom! I need to see Madam Hooch. We'll have to see tomorrow, I guess."

 

Tom looked unfazed at the news. Instead, he playfully made a face.

 

"Should I be jealous? Who is this woman that's taking you away from me?"

 

Harry giggled.

 

"You should be thankful that she is giving you a quiet dinner."

 

"I will never."

 

Harry hastily changed the subject.

 

"Madam Hooch needs someone to fix her brooms. I don't know nothing about fixing a broom, so I don't know if I'll be much help."

 

"I assume you are needed for something other than basic broom-fixing skills," replied Tom.

 

"Maybe, maybe. Well, I got to be going by now."

 

"Then, shall we?"

 

Tom held out his hand, gesturing for Harry to take the stairs first. It was an exaggerated act, and Harry took it. Both of them bantered their way down the stairs, and onto the hallway. Tom walked Harry to the side entrance of the castle.

 

"You should go now, Tom," said Harry, before walking out.

 

Tom nodded. "See you tomorrow, Harry."

 

"You too."

 

Tom then turned around, and Harry used only a couple of seconds admiring the back of his robe swaying around.

 

The broom shed was only a three to four minute walk. He climbed the slight hill where most of the flying lessons took place. As he climbed down, however, he began to see two figures waiting for him by the shed. As he walked closer, he could see who they were.

 

One was definitely Madam Hooch, with her spiky hair and her flying boots... and the other was... Malfoy?

 

"Ah, Professor Potter! Finally."

 

Madam Hooch exclaimed as she saw Harry in the distance. Malfoy didn't say anything, nor acknowledged Harry. So much for the politeness they had some weeks ago for the Bellatrix incident, thought Harry.

 

"I ask both of you to ride these brooms. Now, they were broken and I've just fixed them. I needed some skilled riders for the job, and I remember Mr. Potter being an exceptional seeker from his Hogwarts years... and Mr. Malfoy, Minerva tells me that you were also a seeker at Beauxbatons?"

 

"Yes, Madam," said Malfoy, instantly.

 

It wasn't surprising that Malfoy was a seeker. Seekers were best suited for smaller and leaner bodies, and although Malfoy was quite tall - nearly tall as Tom - his figure was slim.

 

"Bravo!" She yelled, her voice loud and clear in the cold Scotland air. "Now then, pick two out of these brooms, gentlemen, and follow me!"

 

She then climbed the broom she's been holding, and started to fly. Harry looked at the pile of brooms that sat in front of him. They were all very ordinary brooms, and most of them had frayed ends. The wooden parts were a little bit crooked to Harry's liking.

 

"Got all day, Potter?" said Malfoy, voice almost of a sneer. He had already picked a broom - it looked the nicest of them all - and was now looking at Harry.

 

"Why don't you just go ahead," said Harry, not trying to snap back. "We're not competing in speed, so no need to wait for me."

 

"I was not waiting for you, Potter," said Malfoy. It came out a bit rushed. Harry didn't say anything. When he finally picked one - they were going to have to test all of them, anyways, so what's the point of picking the best one? - Malfoy was still standing where he stood.

 

"What are you doing?" asked Harry, surprised that he was still there. "Do you want to actually race or something?"

 

Malfoy bit his lip, and although the sunset was colouring Malfoy's pale face, Harry swore he saw some redness on Malfoy's neck. Embarrassed, was he? Of what? Harry didn't know, but when Malfoy didn't really answer and glared at Harry instead, he decided to just ignore him.

 

"I'll take that as a no," said Harry. "Au revoir!"

 

And with that, he climbed his crooked broom and took his feet off the ground.

 

The first sensation he felt was the chilly October wind. Then came the exhilarating adrenaline of flying - the first time he ever flied, he was on one of these crooked brooms before his dad sent him a broom, and it was the best feeling he'd ever felt. The feeling that brought him the first shapeless Patronus. The feeling of freedom.

 

It was good to be flying, after years of just apparating and portkey-ing. 

 

When he was in the air, he could see Madam Hooch in the distance. She was floating at a spot, waiting for them, and as soon as she saw Harry, she vaguely gestured to a distance and then bolted away. Harry knew this broom could never achieve such speed, so he got what she meant: just follow her as much as he could with that broom.

 

"First time flying?"

 

Harry, startled, looked around and saw Malfoy on his broom. He was right behind him.

 

"Didn't you hear that I was a seeker?" shouted Harry.

 

"I don't know if Hogwarts play the seeker differently," said Malfoy. "As far as I know, they might roll around in the dirt and call that Quidditch."

 

Harry snorted.

 

"I'm surprised you can handle that," said Harry. "I assumed you bought your way into Beauxbaton's Quidditch team."

 

Malfoy glared at Harry in response. He seemed a bit more agitated today.

 

"I'll show you what I can do," said Malfoy. "I challenge you to a race."

 

"A race?"

 

"Yes. Until where Madame is waiting for us. Scared, Potter?"

 

Harry smirked. Harry wasn't really someone who became cocky in many situations, but he knew he was good at flying. He just knew it from his guts that he was.

 

"You wish."

 

And with that, they bolted after Madam Hooch.

 

Harry crouched over the broom, taking the instinctive posture that he had whenever he wanted full speed. The broom resisted at the relentless speed Harry wanted it to go. It wobbled at its tail, and Harry felt like he could fall off any time. But that was the point: the thrill of pushing the broom to its limit, knowing that you could actually fall off ay moment - the thrill of getting through that and going even faster - it was like jumping from a cliff, falling straight down in a crazily accelerated speed, only to be saved at the last mintue before crashing to the ground.

 

Harry could feel the wind slicing against his nose and his cheek. The air at this height was almost freezing. His hand felt frozen against the broom.

 

At the corner of his eye, he could see Malfoy chasing Harry furiously. He was close.

 

Harry was surprised. He really didn't expect Malfoy to be this good. The blond Professor gave him the impression to prefer more stationary activities - studying and teaching Potions, for one. Malfoy always looked traditional, conservative, and well-disciplined. Racing with a broom in this speed was the opposite of that. It needed recklessness. Harry didn't know Malfoy had that in him.

 

The two of them soon were flying side by side, losing and earning the lead alternately. In less than two minutes, they could see Madam Hooch at a distance, observing them with her goggles on. Harry had to admire the goggles, because his glasses weren't doing too good in such coldness. The rims felt frozen, and the edge of each lens was clouded with light frost. He remembered how Hermione used to charm them against such frost - he should've done that by himself today.

 

Malfoy was in a slight lead. Harry felt like his broom was going to finally break as he gave it everything he had.

 

Harry overtook Malfoy less than half a mile before the finish line (which was, an amused Madam Hooch and her broomstick) and as sure as he was that he'd win, Malfoy took him over seconds before arriving.

 

Malfoy won.

 

"Well, Professors. I never expected you two to be this fast on those ordinary brooms," said Madam Hooch, regarding them with interest. "I think I can safely say those two brooms have been perfectly fixed, seeing as how it could endure such rigour."

 

Harry didn't answer. He was frustrated. He met Malfoy's eyes, who was looking at him smugly. The git was smirking, and Harry tried his best to hide his annoyed expression - he didn't want to appear childish.

 

"I will stay here. You sirs should go back to the shed and pick another set of brooms for testing, and fly back. If you fly in this speed for all of them, this might take so much less than I've expected."

 

Harry looked at Malfoy as he heard this - Malfoy was looking back at him. Both of them did not say a word - they all knew what was on. As soon as Madame Hooch said, "Go!" they bolted once again.

 

With his glasses now un-frosted, and his competitive spirit flaring, Harry was in the lead from start to end. As he landed, he climbed off his broom with satisfaction. Seconds later, Malfoy arrived at where Harry was standing.

 

"It's a tie, now," said Harry.

 

"I was sure you were going to break that pathetic broom," said Malfoy. His face was red, presumably from facing the wind. "Either that or you were going to break in that imprudent speed. I was hoping for the latter."

 

"I think they are the words of a sore loser," said Harry.

 

Malfoy glared at him. Harry didn't meet his eyes - he felt good. He went to the pile of brooms - they were approximately six more brooms.

 

"Do you want to have a race with all of them?" asked Harry.

 

Malfoy, for some reason, looked surprised at this question. Not long after, however, he said:

 

"Game on, Potter."

 

 

* * *

 

 

Six races after, both professors landed on the ground with excitement. The score was four to two with Harry winning. Harry knew that although he had won, Malfoy was always following him closely behind. Not only that - while Harry did fly faster in the end, his flying lacked the skill and sophistication that Malfoy had demonstrated with his way of handling the broom. The way Malfoy handled the broom was from deliberate and careful control of his own body, and it was something Harry couldn't bring himself to remember consciously whenever he was in the air.

 

"Good game," said Harry, to a very annoyed-looking Malfoy who was next to him. Madam Hooch has dismissed them and they were now walking back towards the castle.

 

"This was unfair. You may be used to fly on crappy brooms like those. I, however, am not."

 

Harry chuckled. "We can do it on our own brooms next time. See who's the real winner."

 

Malfoy scowled at Harry. "There won't be a next time, Potter."

 

"Why not?" asked Harry as he looked over at Malfoy. The fact that they'd just flown together if however short, made Harry want to ask this question outright. "Why do you hate me so much?"

 

"What? I-"

 

"Is it because I'm a Potter, or I'm a half-blood?" added Harry, not giving Malfoy time to deny it.

 

Malfoy didn't answer, and for a moment they walked in silence. As they got close to the side door of the castle, Malfoy answered, finally.

 

"I don't hate you, Potter. Don't be ridiculous."

 

Harry was going to protest, only to be stopped by Malfoy's obnoxious finger. 

 

"And yes. We may have a race with our own broom when opportunity arrives."

 

"It's not like I was asking for one," grumbled Harry. Malfoy made it sound like Harry was begging for another race, which was not true.

 

Malfoy didn't say anything, but when Harry glanced at Malfoy once again before they parted, Harry could swore that Malfoy was smiling.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

 

Nothing was out of the ordinary the next day. Harry dragged his sleepy feet to the Hall for his breakfast and found Tom waiting for him. He then had his breakfast as he talked occasionally with Tom. He had to slightly adjust his hands as they sometimes brushed against Tom's, who was sitting right next to Tom. He saw students laughing and having their meal, occasionally looking over at the professor's aisle and then whispering something to one another. Harry didn't care what it was about - he already knew there was some gossip around the school about Harry and Tom. They always sat next to each other during their meals, and Tom was sighted by many students as he waited for Harry before lunch and dinner, in front of Harry's office. It would be surprising if no teenagers gossiped about them, honestly.

 

Nothing was out of the ordinary until they finished their meals. Both of them were about to head off to their own rooms and get ready for today's lectures like they always did. As they stepped outside the hall via the faculty door, a voice came from behind.

 

"Potter."

 

Harry turned around and so did Tom. There was Malfoy. Malfoy, like Tom, looked as if he woke up hours ago and groomed himself from head to toe. The fact that he was always a sharp dresser emphasised the fact even more.

 

"Malfoy," answered Harry, confused.

 

"My potions cabinet got robbed, twice consecutively. I insist on your assistance," said Malfoy. His voice was crisp and he looked a bit annoyed.

 

Aside from the obvious arrogance of "insisting" on Harry's assistance as if Harry owed it to him, Harry was a bit glad. It seemed like yesterday's events made Malfoy less hostile against him.

 

"Sure," said Harry. "What time?"

 

Malfoy looked taken aback. Was he not expecting Harry to say yes? The look soon disappeared, and his face was back to the usual Malfoy frown.

 

"Tomorrow at Eight, after dinner. My office."

 

And with that, he went away, swishing his robe behind him.

 

"I guess something about Potions make their masters be so dramatic," mumbled Harry.

 

"Indeed," replied Tom, after a second of silence.

 

Because Harry was not a good observer even after six years of Auror experience and almost four years of Auror-in-Training, he failed to notice Tom's usually polite smile was something different, this time.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Harry blinked several times as he looked around Dumbledore's office. It was almost exactly the same, with the exception of Fawkes looking a lot younger than when he'd seen him last. Harry remembered the first time he saw Fawkes bursting himself into flames - he was so scared that he might have to do anything with Fawkes' death. Although Dumbledore had forgiven him of many things, Harry didn't know if he'd go far as to forgive his pheonix's death. As far as Harry knew, pheonix was untameable and almost impossible to spot since they were so rare - Fawkes was an outstanding exception in both ways. Then, as Harry wondered what the actual _fuck_ was wrong with him, Dumbledore appeared and Fawkes started birthing himself from its ashes. It was one of the most beautiful things he'd seen - a baby Pheonix, a small redness struggling to and succeeding in bringing himself to life from a whole pile of black and death.

 

Fawkes now looked like he was in his adolescence. He tilted its head in acknowledgment as he met Harry's eyes. Harry did the same. Harry knew Fawkes liked him - probably because of how close he was to Dumbledore. Harry liked Fawkes too. Not only he looked majestic, he was also very wise, just like his owner.

 

"Fawkes has chosen a more serious life this time."

 

A voice from upstairs made Harry lift his head. Dumbledore was on the stairs, looking at Harry and Fawkes with a smile. Harry smiled. Seeing Dumbledore made Harry feel relaxed and comfortable - probably because he trusts the old man to solve almost any sort of trouble Harry was capable of making. That was the same, student or not.

 

"I can't agree nor disagree, sir, because I don't have a clue," answered Harry.

 

Dumbledore chuckled, and he climbed down the stairs. Harry watched him and watched the other portraits looking over them curiously. The portraits were quiet today. Sometimes some of them - especially Phineas - made some snide comments of Harry's blood status.

 

"Have a seat, Harry." Dumbledore gestured to a seat in front of his desk as he himself sat down in his chair.

 

When Harry did sit down, Dumbledore took a candy out of his candy plate and popped one in his mouth. Because Harry knew Dumbledore was going to offer him one, he shook his head almost at the same time as Dumbledore picked up the plate to make the offer.

 

"How's Hogwarts as a Professor?" asked Dumbledore.

 

Harry shrugged. "It's good, mostly. I love Hogwarts, and it's nice to have a couple more years at home."

 

Dumbledore hummed.

 

"How's Hogwarts without your friends?"

 

"It would've been much better if they were here, of course. But I've made friends here too. Well, I should say friend, because it's only one person. Others are more of my...colleagues."

 

It sounded strange, to refer to Professor Flitwick and Professor Quirrell and the others as his 'colleagues.' They taught Harry before - Harry still felt like he was their student and not a fellow professor, no matter how many years have passed.

 

"I assume you've made friends with Mr. Thomas Riddle?" Dumbledore's eyes twinkled.

 

"Yes, sir," said Harry. Dumbledore couldn't have not heard or seen how close the two of them have become in the past two months.

 

"I also assume that he can't be any similar with Mr. Weasley or Ms. Granger," said Dumbledore.

 

Harry let out a quiet laugh. "No, not at all. He's... he's so much different from them, in almost every way."

 

"Oh." Dumbledore put his hands together in front of his mouth, and he leaned in slightly. "Almost?"

 

"Well, he's a bookworm, much like Hermione. I think, sir, that he'd be good friends with her if only they knew each other."

 

Dumbledore definitely looked amused now, if not before.

 

"May I ask you why you've asked me here, sir?" asked Harry, after a while of comfortable silence.

 

"I merely wanted to know how you were doing, Harry. I wondered if I had made the right decision, and if I hadn't forced you to this position," replied Dumbledore.

 

Dumbledore's round spectacles glistened under the light.

 

"You hadn't, sir. I chose to accept your offer and I am very satisfied with my choice."

 

Harry smiled. He appreciated the old Headmaster showing concern. It was a surprise, indeed, to be asked to be a Hogwarts professor in the middle of his summer holidays from Dumbledore himself. To be honest, Harry might not have accepted it if it came from someone else. But he did, because it came from Dumbledore, and Harry believed that if the old man thought Harry was needed, there must be a good reason behind it.

 

"Good, good." Dumbledore nodded, eyes crinkling slightly in the form of a smile.

 

"And may I also ask why you've offered the position in the first place?" asked Harry.

 

He knew it was a vain effort, because Dumbledore had said before that he couldn't tell him that unless he deemed it fine to tell him. And as far as Harry knew, that was Dumbledore's way of saying that no amount of Harry's asking would get the answer. But it was worth a try, Harry thought.

 

Dumbledore, still smiling faintly, shook his head slightly. "I'm sorry, Harry."

 

Harry nodded. "I thought so. I believe you have your reasons, and I trust you, sir."

 

Harry couldn't tell if he was seeing it clearly - what he thought he saw was, Dumbledore avoiding Harry's eyes only slightly before answering, "Thank you, Harry."

 

Whatever it was, Harry was clearly mistaken, he thought, as he stepped out of the Headmaster's office few minutes later.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Tom was deeply dissatisfied.

 

Everything was going according to plan. Students, including the purebloods and those from families in power, admired and liked Tom. And Tom used the phrase 'like' very loosely. There was a fan club dedicated to Tom, and students frequently requested Tom for meetings to discuss various aspects of their lives - both academic and non-academic, including family issues. The latter discussions were Tom's favourite, of course, simply because Tom gained more blackmail information on many Ministry officials from them than what he did from fruitless interrogations-faking-to-be-social-meetings with their colleagues. Impressionable teenagers fell in love with the charismatic, charming and magically powerful professor and spilled everything about their parents - what they were thinking of others, what they were planning, and whose mother was having an affair with whose father.

 

Students were not his only concern, however. Tom was determined to make the young, pretty Potter heir his from the day he saw the younger man. It was going to be easy and simple - he was going to seduce Harry with his own attractiveness, have his body, and then his mind. That would have worked, if only the young man was not so worn out from countless one-night stands he had to endure for the past several years. Harry had alluded several times that he didn't do "just sex" anymore because of that. He'd said he didn't like that he was using the other person only as a means to his own end. It was stupid, Tom thought, because why would anyone fool oneself that they were doing anything other than using others for their own goals? 

 

But it was supposedly something Tom had to go through if he was going to snatch Harry in his grasp.

 

Every time Tom saw Harry in the morning, disheveled, sleepy and dangerously guardless, he had to remind himself of this. Something about Harry especially made Tom want to go against his plans - occassionally, while he was talking to Harry with their eyes meeting, he had flashes of images going through his mind where Harry was writhing underneath him, screaming Tom's name while looking up at him with his beautiful green eyes filled with tears. Tom has always been very thankful of the fact that Harry was not a Legilimens.

 

Tom wanted to destroy Harry, and yet spoil and pamper him at the same time. He had this feeling of urge, the feeling of  _want_ inside of him that was so intense that the only way to express it was, it seemed like, through extreme measures.

 

And all of that was being suppressed, or, has been suppressed from the very first day they met, just because Tom knew he'd regret it if he went against his plan and moved too fast.

 

Oh, and how unbearable it has been.

 

Tom closed his eyes. He was sitting in his office, and this was his free period. He would have normally enjoyed this period, constructing plans or reading rare documents hidden in the Office. But today he wasn't.

 

He was deeply dissatisfied, because he had noticed a flaw in his plan. Tom had overlooked the possibility of Harry being interested in anyone other than Tom. After Tom had made Harry his, there would be absolutely no chance of it whatsoever - Tom was going to make sure of it, of course - but before that happened, it seemed like Tom was short of his ways to make sure it didn't happen.

 

The flaw was reminded to him by himself when he saw Malfoy, asking Harry for help with his potions cabinet.

 

Tom knew, and has known, that the unnecessary aggressiveness Malfoy has portrayed towards Harry was a sign of something else. It was evident to Tom that Malfoy was interested in Harry in ways Malfoy himself did not approve of. He has been restraining himself yet the want for Harry's attention made him go out of his way to do something that would offend Harry. Tom thought of such behaviour idiotic, just because Tom was never one to deny himself. It was not his problem, however, and hence, he has been ignoring it.

 

But it seemed like Malfoy has turned to another direction. Malfoy has asked Harry to do something for him that wasn't an emergency - yes, Tom was keeping an eye on that as well - and that there were many options other than Harry that could help him with the situation i.e. just about any other professor. But he came to Harry and asked for his help. Moreover, when Malfoy was asking Harry, he looked very stiff but Tom didn't miss the nervous movements of his fingertips and the occasional lick of his lower lips. It was glaringly obvious that Malfoy has made some kind of a decision to yield to his desires towards Harry.

 

Frivolous ferret.

 

Tom could feel the burn of rage piling up inside him. How does that feeble-minded, painfully ordinary imbecile whose only achievements were practically spoon-fed to him even _dare_ try to disrupt his plans? How does he dare to covet what isn't, and will never be, his?

 

Something was needed to be done.

 

A number of options flew around Tom's well-organised mind.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The next morning, Harry knew something was off, because Tom stopped in the middle of his sentence twice in a row.

 

They were having breakfast next to each other, like always, and they were talking and joking like they always did.

 

"I have to say, Professor Quirrell was being rather ab-"

 

Tom stopped talking, his moving of forks and knives frozen in place. He then relaxed himself very carefully. This happened a few minutes ago as well - Harry wanted to know what was going on. Tom began speaking again as if nothing was wrong, but Harry was not having it.

 

"Is there something bothering you? I don't know if I'll be much help, but if you want someone to talk to, I'm all ears," said Harry.

 

Tom sighed. "You noticed, haven't you?"

 

"You are always perfect, almost too much. It's really not that difficult to notice if you do something slightly different."

 

Tom ran his hand through his perfectly styled hair. Unlike Harry's, it came bouncing back to its usual place even after Tom's hand went through them. Unlike some people who have genetically cursed hair that just goes back in whatever directions it wants to even after heavy grooming, Tom must have genetically blessed hair that is just very prone to stay in a well-groomed state.

 

"I don't know if it is appropriate to talk about this," said Tom. He was looking down at his plate, and he looked worried. Harry could tell, from being with Tom for the past two months almost every day, that this was so not like Tom. Tom wasn't someone who looked worried. He always looked like he had known in advance what was going to happen.

 

It made Harry worry even more. What was going on?

 

"Why wouldn't it be?" asked Harry.

 

"It's... I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

 

Tom then glanced up at Harry. For a moment, Harry thought he could see sadness - which was not something he'd see on Tom's usually very confident face. It soon went away, of course, because it was Tom. But it was enough to break Harry's heart.

 

"I thought we were friends, and maybe I'm wrong, but I thought we were close friends," started Harry. "I told you about my family, and you told me about yours. We can talk about personal stuff. Unless you want to, obviously, but I'm... I'm fine with it. You don't have to worry about me getting uncomfortable."

 

"Really?" said Tom as he looked at Harry intently. Harry noticed the slight quiver of Tom's mouth.

 

"Yes. Will you tell me what's wrong? I'm worried," answered Harry.

 

Tom took his eyes back to his plate, from which he'd been eating in a very slow state. He closed his eyes, sighed, and then turned his body towards Harry with a determined look. Because they were sitting next to each other already, they were now very close - Harry could feel their proximity and it made his heart beat loud in his ears.

 

Not now, thought Harry.

 

"I have received a rather strong-worded letter from a parent," said Tom.

 

"What? Why? And whose parent?" asked Harry.

 

"I don't think I can tell you that, Harry, because it was an anonymous letter," answered Tom. "But the letter said something of how nobody teaching their child was preposterous, and that the Headmaster should employ someone more like Professor Malfoy. They also included their opinion on our muggle studies subject and how unnecessary and even poisonous it was to teach it at school."

 

Tom continued, as he flicked his food with disinterest.

 

"I normally wouldn't care too much, but this particular letter has targeted me specifically and had included a detailed investigation on my tragic upbringing. You see, Harry, I came to Hogwarts because of many reasons, and one of them was that I would finally be free from listening to the words such as 'filth-blood,' or 'worthless nobody whose lives cost less than an undesirable.' Hearing them all again from a parent whose child I teach has affected me more than it should."

 

Harry couldn't believe it. He knew half of the Wizengamot - or maybe more than half - were blood supremacists and almost the whole of them were traditionalists. He also knew that that meant the whole of the wizarding society had traditionalist values as their prevailing values, meaning that family names were one of the most important things that would define a witch or a wizard. But this was Hogwarts, where Dumbledore was the Headmaster.

 

"I can't believe that someone would do that. I don't think Dumbledore would let anything happen like that if only he'd known," said Harry.

 

"Dumbledore doesn't, and shouldn't know about this," added Tom, hastily. "I don't want to ask for any help. It is my problem, and I will learn how to handle it."

 

Harry disagreed - he thought the Headmaster should do something about his faculty members being ill-treated - but he decided not to object. Tom was clearly worried about sharing this with Harry, so he certainly wouldn't find it pleasant to share it with Dumbledore.

 

"I still can't believe this is happening. Remus has taught here many years ago and I've never heard of him getting any letters like that," said Harry. "I thought Dumbledore was behind it."

 

"It's possible that he wasn't telling you about them. You were a teenager when he was a professor, and I wouldn't share this with any of my students as well."

 

Harry had to admit that.

 

It was infuriating, however, that something like that had to happen. Tom Riddle was one of the most remarkable wizards of the generation, and people still cared only about his family name. Harry knew how some very extreme traditionalists behaved in the presence of people they did not approve - Harry had seen some of them wiping everything Harry touched, right in front of him, saying something like "we can't let your half-bloodness affect any of our good furniture. You must understand, don't you?" That was insulting, no matter who was in Harry's shoes, but to say something like that to someone like Tom Riddle was just ridiculous. Harry knew what Tom could do and had witnessed some of it, and he was sure that all of the Wizengamot combined, if Dumbledore taken out, had less magic than Tom Riddle had. Tom breathed magic, and the difference between Tom and every single one of those stuck-up conservatives in terms of magic could be compared to a vast ocean and a tiny mucky puddle.

 

"Something is just wrong. Terribly wrong," muttered Harry. "You are brilliant, much more than any one of those with 'good family names' who are filled with 'noble blood.' In almost every aspect. I think they should be honoured to have you teach their child."

 

"Thank you, Harry. It means a lot," replied Tom, glancing over at Harry with a tentative smile.

 

It broke Harry's heart even further.

 

"Something is wrong with our world, Tom. What is with all this noble blood? We should be appraised by something we have control over, not this nonsensical idea of bloodlines. I thought we advanced thanks to Dumbledore winning against Grindelwald, but we still have a long way to go."

 

"I agree," said Tom. Then, he looked down at his place once again before turning to face Harry. He was looking at Harry intently as he spoke, "One day, Harry, I aspire to make that change myself. I will do something that will change the course of this world forever. I will not be a professor long, Harry - I believe I was born for greatness."

 

The words were uttered with confidence, and Harry didn't even consider joking about the self-praise, because it was true. Tom was born for something great. He was like nobody else.

 

Tom added as he watched Harry's reaction: "When that day comes, will you be on my side?"

 

Harry didn't hesitate for a second before he answered, "Yes."

 

Tom smiled. Harry's heart was beating even louder in his ears - it was pounding. Tom then put his hand on Harry's left hand, which was on the table. It was cold. Tom grabbed Harry's hand lightly, looking Harry directly in the eyes and smiling, before saying:

 

"I couldn't be happier."

 

Looking at Harry's lovely flushed face, Tom could feel the satisfaction rolling over from his hand, touching Harry's. This should be enough for Harry to feel wary against the traditionalists and one of its strongest advocates, Draco Malfoy. Of course, there was no letter. But Harry didn't need to know. Oh, and there were so many things Harry didn't need to know.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It was ten minutes past Eight, and Harry was jogging down the stairs. He wanted to run, but Mcgonagall has sternly advised him against it when he ran into her a few weeks ago. That day, he was running to Hagrid's because he had just remembered that he'd promised to visit him, and Mcgonagall has stopped him and lectured him on how "improper and unbefitting" it was for a professor to run around the school like a lunatic. Harry had to agree with her, and so now, he wasn't running. How he wanted to, however, was a different story.

 

He wanted to run because he was late for his 'appointment' with Malfoy. He was asked to help him discover the potions thief. Although Harry hadn't forgotten about it, he couldn't help himself but indulge in the conversation he was having with Tom at dinner. Tom was particularly more talkative today, asking Harry more questions and leaving occasional touches on Harry that made Harry want to stay longer with Tom. But he had promised Malfoy, and so he took off. Only ten minutes too late.

 

He didn't want to screw up whatever patch they seemed to have made. Malfoy seemed like he was going to act at least a bit more amicably, and the favour he asked was something of a olive branch. Harry knew it. He sincerely hoped he hadn't messed it up already by being late.

 

Harry was near the door for the potions cabinet when it abruptly opened wide. Malfoy came out of it, looking sullen.

 

"Malfoy!" yelled Harry. "Sorry I'm late. Got caught up at dinner."

 

Malfoy turned his head to look at Harry. He looked annoyed. For a brief second, Harry thought Malfoy was going to spit insults at Harry and his tardiness and they would be back to where they were before. However, Malfoy sighed and gestured at the closet instead.

 

"Get in. I thought you weren't coming."

 

Harry nodded, thankful that that was the end of it, and went inside.

 

The potions cabinet was quite different from what Harry had seen in Snape's time. It was, first of all, much brighter. Snape had the tendency to keep everything in darkness, just like his exterior was. His classrooms were always dim, and so was the potions cabinet. Harry didn't say this out loud, however, because he knew this cabinet was forbidden to students and he's only seen this because he was in his invisibility cloaks, violating dozens of school rules.

 

The cabinet was also bigger than he'd remembered. Malfoy must have rearranged all of it completely and made it his own. It was more organised and very clean, much like Malfoy's appearance.

 

"This is... nice," said Harry.

 

Various potions and its ingredients were stacked, and most of the shelves were full. Harry wondered what some of them with peculiar marks on them were. Veritaserum? Potions no. 68?

 

"Nice is a word you use to describe your office, Potter. If you call that mess an office," came Malfoy's snarky reply as he closed the cabinet door behind him.

 

Because the whole cabinet was quite spacious, there was still space for Harry and Malfoy to both stand. It, however, was still a cabinet, and was therefore making Harry stand a bit closer to Malfoy than he normally would.

 

Malfoy seemed to notice this as well, because he was avoiding Harry's eyes like they were the plague.

 

"It's not like you've been inside my office," said Harry.

 

Malfoy didn't answer. Instead, he turned around with his back against Harry, and stared at the ceiling. It was clear that he was extremely awkward at the situation.

 

"I don't have to see it. I can make a conjecture from how you usually carry yourself," said Malfoy, his voice slightly raspy.

 

"How I carry myself? What is that supposed to mean?"

 

No answer.

 

Harry felt slightly uncomfortable. They were standing in the cabinet, with Harry looking at Malfoy's back.

 

"Why don't we talk about the... the theft, in the hallway? This is a bit too crowded for two people," asked Harry.

 

"No idiot will attempt any larceny if they saw two professors sitting in the hallway waiting for them, Potter. Or are you one of those idiots and do I have to remind you of that fact?"

 

Harry snorted. "It's not like you told me we were doing some sort of stake-out. I thought we were examining the shelves and make some deductions."

 

"Either way, hallway is out of the question."

 

"All right then."

 

Harry then rummaged through his robe and pulled out his map. He didn't know if it was a wise decision to show Malfoy this, but there was no way he could hide it from Malfoy's watch if they were going to stay in this cabinet together. And, Harry did want to help Malfoy.

 

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," said Harry, with his wand pointed at the map.

 

"What in the name of - Potter?" Malfoy, listening to this, turned around to see Harry with a piece of parchment. He then watched with surprise as the map of Hogwarts start to appear on it.

 

"I didn't know there was such a detailed map of Hogwarts," said Malfoy, observing it.

 

"It is because there isn't. This is the only one, as far as I know," said Harry, proudly. "And it isn't just a map. It shows everyone who is inside the castle, and where they are."

 

Malfoy narrowed his eyes as he looked up at Harry.

 

"You must be joking, aren't you?"

 

Harry was amused when he said, "not at all."

 

"If this is some sort of Zonko's product or that of the Weasley brothers', I really have to doubt on your sense of reality. Do you really think something they make can map out this castle and its inhabitants when the castle has hundreds of years of history, is protected with one of the most ancient charms, half of which unanalysable? Not to mention that Dumbledore, as much as my antipathy towards him, has been looking over it for decades? Are you out of your mi-"

 

"Look! There's Dumbledore, pacing around in his office," said Harry, pointing at the little footsteps with the nametag 'Dumbledore.'

 

"Potter," said Malfoy, exasperated. "Do you really think the red-headed Hogwarts dropouts can trace _Dumbledore_ 's whereabouts?"

 

"And here we are, look. Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy." Ignoring Malfoy's disbelief completely, Harry pointed at the two of them, located right inside the potions cabinet. 

 

That silenced Malfoy for some seconds. It wasn't for long, however.

 

"This must be some sort of a joke," said Malfoy.

 

"Not really," said Harry. "Look, Malfoy, I understand your doubt and where it's coming from. But why don't I start with how this isn't a Zonko's or the Weasley's product?"

 

"Then what other joke shop did you procure this nonsense from," said Malfoy, voice completely dry.

 

"It's not from a joke shop. My father and his friends made this when they went to Hogwarts. You know my dad and Sirius, right?"

 

Malfoy nodded, face looking like he'd just tasted something bitter. Harry had to bit his lips to stop himself from laughing at the expression.

 

"Them and two other friends made this. This works because nobody has ever imagined any student putting such effort and having the talent to do all this. I don't know why any of the professors haven't tried to make something like this, but probably because the thought never crossed their mind."

 

"... Probably."

 

"I'm trying to help you here. You see, I can't lend you this map because this is very dear to me. But at least we can look at it together."

 

Malfoy still looked like he didn't believe Harry's words fully. Nonetheless, he must have decided that it couldn't do him more harm than good, because moments later, he nodded with still a very sour expression on his face.

 

"Great then. Well, we can keep one eye on this map, see who approaches, and..."

 

Harry handed it over to Malfoy and turned around to see the shelves.

 

"In the meantime, maybe you can fill me up with the missing potions?"

 

Malfoy cleared his throat before explaining.

 

"Not potions, but ingredients. I've found that a couple of lacewing flies and fluxweeds acquired at full moon, were gone. I used to store them there," said Malfoy as he gestured his arm so that he could point at a shelf in front of Harry. The arm had to go over where Harry was standing, and Harry got a whiff of Malfoy's scent. It was... pleasant.

 

"But now, I have changed its place with foxgloves. Now that I think of it, it may not not have been a perfect choice seeing as it is poisonous."

 

"And you aren't going to move it?" asked Harry.

 

"If the despicable little thieves mistake foxgloves for something else and take them, I will not weep over their dead contemptible bodies," grumbled Malfoy.

 

Harry chuckled. Malfoy's dry sense of humour was getting Harry, somehow. He didn't know how Malfoy was taking this because he hadn't looked back.

 

"Lacewing fly and fluxweed. Hmm. Not any ordinary ingredient, aren't they?" asked Harry as he observed the shelves closely.

 

"No they are not. Common ingredients are elsewhere."

 

"Oh," said Harry. He didn't know that. Then, something went through his mind - lacewing fly and fluxweed, Harry remembered that because Hermione has badgered him and Ron for weeks of how difficult it was to obtain within school boundaries. And why did they need to obtain them in the first place? Harry asked himself. What- Oh.

 

"Polyjuice potions." Harry blurted out as he turned around to face Malfoy.

 

Malfoy looked slightly surprised. "I didn't expect you to know that."

 

"Well, I had to get at least an E in Potions if I wanted to be an Auror."

 

"I highly doubt that Severus taught you of them and their ingredients during school hours. It is an extremely dangerous Potion, and its production process should not be left to the hands of students," said Malfoy, watching Harry curiously.

 

"Severus?" Harry asked, trying to evade the implied question of what was the actual reason of him knowing. 

 

"Severus Snape."

 

"Yes, Snape. Do you know him?"

 

"Of course I know him. He's my godfather," snapped Malfoy.

 

Oh. _Oh_.

 

"But-" Harry stopped himself before going any further, but Malfoy was not having it.

 

"But what?" asked Malfoy.

 

"But he's a half-blood, and I thought Malfoys were all about purebloods and all that," said Harry.

 

Malfoy then glared at Harry before saying, "We do follow the tradition of keeping the bloodline pure. However, it does not mean we cannot appreciate friendship and magical talent from an extraordinary wizard or witch. Severus has been dear to my mother in both ways, and he was not neglected just because of his blood."

 

Harry was slightly confused. He thought Malfoy was acting hostile against Harry because he was a half-blood and Malfoy was well, one of the Malfoys. But it seemed like they already had a member in their family who was at least open to the idea of befriending and sharing close boundaries with non-purebloods. Then why did the youngest Malfoy act out, particularly to Harry? Harry also remembered how Malfoy wasn't doing the same to Tom, who was not only a half-blood but also from a highly insignificant family.

 

"Enough chit-chat," declared Malfoy. "Can you figure something out or not? Both ingredients are extremely hard to procure, and I am also worried about the possible accidents that are prone to happening when amateurs brew Polyjuice Potions."

 

Hermione was a genius, knowing how to brew that in her second year, thought Harry.

 

"I can cast some tracing spells and set a trap. But I can't guarantee you the full result."

 

Malfoy sighed. "I wasn't expecting one."

 

Harry ignored the implied insult. He then proceeded to charm the floorboards and the shelves the two ingredients were on - he put two separate charms, one basic tracing charm and the other, slightly advanced. The first charm was going to detect if there were any magic involved, and the second would reveal the person's magical signature if only it hasn't been concealed by something else. These were the very first steps he would take at a crime scene when he was an Auror.

 

The two spells soon turned into a fuzz. Malfoy was observing all of this closely.

 

"Hmm. Well," said Harry. "As you can see... there's pinkness around the doorknob, meaning that they used an unlocking spell to come in, and it is something quite advanced. It's not just _Alohomora_."

 

"As I have predicted. I don't use _Colloportus_  to lock my Potions cabinet," replied Malfoy with a hint of disdain, as if saying _how dare you even think of me as low_. Harry chuckled. Colloportus wasn't a bad spell, it was just... easy.

 

"All I can say is that this isn't done by anyone ordinary. It seems like no other magic was used. And now, the signature... this is interesting," said Harry, as he observed the shape it took on the floorboards.

 

"What does this mean?" asked Malfoy, moving away so that they could get a clearer look at the signature. He bumped his shoulders into Harry's in the process, and as if he was burned, he moved away in an instant. Harry didn't notice.

 

"Er. It has been tempered with a concealment charm, or maybe a concealing object... This looks like our culprit was ready for the tracking spells, Malfoy," answered Harry.

 

The magical signature revealed was indeed broken, and it wasn't broken with a simple spell. Harry hadn't seen something like this in a long time - only very high-profile criminals knew how to mess their trace up to this level.

 

"There's nothing I can learn from this. Nothing. I'm sorry, Malfoy, but your thief may not be a student."

 

"What," drawled Malfoy, "do you mean."

 

"What I'm telling you is that this might be more serious than you thought it was. Do you think we should involve other professors?"

 

Malfoy clenched his teeth before answering, "You just told me this could be a work by one of the professors and now you want to involve one of them?"

 

"I know I can trust Tom, and obviously Mcgonagall and Dumbledore."

 

Malfoy's glare was about to burn Harry to a crisp.

 

"I do not."

 

"Come on, not even Dumbledore?" asked Harry. "You seriously can't believe he is a polyjuiced version of Dumbledore. Not many can hide his existence and pretend to be him, you know. Most brilliant wizard of all time, etc, etc."

 

"That's not where my disbelief lies."

 

"Then what?"

 

"I don't trust him to put appropriate measures into this case," said Malfoy. "He tends to be more lenient towards those who share similar political values with them. While we don't know if this is such a case, I am not going to endure the possiblity of handing this contemptuous larcenist over only to see he or she recieve the smallest possible repurcussions."

 

Harry raised his eyebrows. He did not think the punishment was such an essential part to this.

 

"If this does involve one of the professors, then don't you think it is more pressing to solve this as fast as possible? Like you said before, Polyjuice is a dangerous potion, more so if it is in the hands of an ill-willed professor."

 

"And I am saying that I do not approve of this problem involving anyone else other than what is necessary to solve it."

 

Harry tilted his head slightly with his arms crossed.

 

"I didn't know you believed in me this much," said Harry, after a short moment of silence.

 

"You've been Auror for six years, Potter. I don't believe in _you_ , I believe in our Auror-training system."

 

Harry shrugged. "Fair enough, then. So you do not want anyone else to know about the details?"

 

"No."

 

"And, do you agree to involve Dumbledore if it turns out that I cannot figure out the culprit?"

 

Malfoy didn't answer. He was biting his lower lip, and he was frowning.

 

"I will try my best, I promise," said Harry. "But this is quite a problem, and I think we should have a back-up plan just in case. This," Harry gestured around the signature on the floorboard that was now almsot gone. "This isn't simple. I cannot guarantee that I will catch the culprit."

 

It was clear that Malfoy was very reluctant when he said, "fine."

 

Harry sighed in relief. He was going to insist it until Malfoy agreed to it anyways.

 

"Now, have you seen anyone approaching our cabinet on the map?" asked Harry, gesturing to the map that he's handed over to Malfoy.

 

"I haven't had the chance to check it closely."

 

Harry took it from Malfoy's hand, and the both of them peered over at it. There seemed to be no other people around the cabinet, and any of the surrounding hallways.

 

"We can wait here for a while and then call it a day if no-one appears. I will cast some surveillence charms before we leave," said Harry.

 

Malfoy nodded.

 

As they stood, looking at the map where the only names they could see were 'Draco Malfoy' and 'Harry Potter,' they waited for something to change. The silence between them was slightly awkward, more so because of how close they were standing to each other. Just as Harry was trying to find something to say about, Malfoy cleared his throat.

 

"I still can't believe this is a legitimate tracking map," said Malfoy, not looking up at Harry and fixing his gaze on the empty map.

 

"It is. I know, because it has saved me many times in my school years," answered Harry.

 

"I can imagine. Potters - I've heard about them. Gryffindors."

 

"I'm sorry, exactly what have you heard?" asked Harry in a playful tone.

 

Malfoy looked up, amused.

 

"Their notorious disregard for rules, of course."

 

The rest of their conversation went on as they insulted each other, keeping an eye on the map from time to time. Harry giggled at one of Malfoy's thinly veiled yet playful insults as he tried to find a better comeback in his mind. Malfoy wasn't too bad after all, he thought, as he watched Malfoy's eyes soften and his body relaxed as time passed. Having Snape as his godfather was surely a surprise - not only because he wasn't a name Harry expected to hear after graduating Hogwarts, but also because it showed that maybe Harry was indeed mistaken about Malfoy and his hatred towards Harry due to his blood status.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Tom was anxiously sitting in his seat, waiting for Harry to come into the Hall for breakfast. He was anxious because he knew for a fact that Harry spent last evening with Malfoy in the small Potions cabinet. Sneaky bastard, that Malfoy was. He didn't know exactly what Malfoy was trying to do, but he was sure Harry's mind was occupied with more of Tom than of Malfoy at the moment. He made sure that was the case, by engaging with Harry enthusiastically until he had to leave. That fact, however, didn't settle his paranoid mind.

 

He had to restrain himself physically last night from going over to the cabinet and wrench the door open himself. The idea of Malfoy and Harry standing closely to each other made Tom's blood boil. He must know what happened. He knew that nothing of import must have happened, because Harry was not interested in Malfoy in such a way. Nonetheless, he couldn't stop staring at the empty seat next to him.

 

Finally, a familiar sound of footsteps came through the faculty door behind him. He did not turn around, and waited until he could see Harry in his peripheral vision.

 

"Morning, Tom," said Harry.

 

"Good morning, Harry," answered Tom, as if nothing was bothering him. He scanned over Harry as quickly and as thoroughly as he possibly could.

 

Sleepy, messy hair, loosely-tied tie. The usual.

 

"I have three classes before lunch. I'm already exhausted," said Harry, as he plopped down on his seat.

 

Tom was dying to ask what happened last night, but he knew it would sound abrupt. So instead, he said: "I know. Some pumpkin juice might help." 

 

Harry nodded, poured a cup, and took a sip.

 

That was when Tom saw something that made him feel like his intestines just got tangled. As Harry sipped from his cup, Tom could see a blotch of redness on the side of Harry's neck. Red, and big enough to be made by someone else's teeth.

 

Tom was seconds away from snatching Harry's neck and demand answers from him. Instead, he stood up with pulling his chair back violently, making a large noise. 

 

"Tom?" asked Harry, confused.

 

"Would you please excuse me, Harry. I'm not feeling well."

 

That was all Tom could manage to say before storming out of the Hall.

  

 

* * *

 

 

After curses after curses of _Crucio_ s and _Avada Kedavra_ s to several spiders _engorgio-_ ed enough to give him satisfaction, he was finally back to his controlled self. Now that his mind was cleared up, he could see how the redness on Harry's neck could be from something else. An easy candidate would be, a bite from an insect.

 

Tom had no choice but to reprimand himself of his haste conclusions and his subsequent behaviours. He had a reputation to uphold, for Circe's sake. It wasn't also the best possible response for Harry.

 

Tom sat behind his desk as he waited for Harry's free period to start.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The sound of knocking on the door woke Harry out of his thoughts. He was walking around his desk, which sometimes put his mind at ease.

 

"Come in," said Harry.

 

It was Tom. He looked like he always did - perfect - but there was something slightly off. Harry couldn't put a finger on it, but he looked a bit more... wild.

 

"Tom! Are you feeling better?"

 

Tom smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. He was standing at the threshold, not coming in.

 

"Yes, Harry. Thank you for asking."

 

Harry looked at him, wary. "Are you sure? You still sound a bit down."

 

"I'm fine, Harry. I really am."

 

Tom then advanced towards where Harry was standing in a couple of strides. Harry, startled by his sudden movement, moved back a couple steps, only to be blocked by his own desk at his back. Tom moved closer.

 

"I'm sorry I behaved the way I did in the morning, Harry," said Tom.

 

They were so close.

 

Harry could feel warmth coming out of Tom's body. He looked up at Tom's face, wondering what was going on - Tom's eyes were fixated on Harry's.

 

"No problem, really, I-uh. I sometimes can be like that too-"

 

Harry's words were cut off as soon as he felt Tom's right hand caressing the side of Harry's face, carefully and gently as if Harry would break if touched any harder.

 

Harry could feel his heart pounding in his chest, and his toes shivering with excitement. What was happening? Why was Tom looking at him like Harry was the only thing he's seeing right now?

 

Tom took his other hand to touch the side of Harry's neck. It first felt like that hand was a bit more aggressive, as if it was trying to grab Harry's neck, but such feeling soon went away as it turned to a softer touch. Harry looked up at Tom, helplessly going through all the possible scenarios in his head and reasons not to be misinterpreting this.

 

It was then when Tom kissed him.

 

It was soft and warm and smelled Tom, and the way Tom grabbed Harry's face with both of his hands as he deepened the kiss made Harry moan. Harry melted against Tom. He reached out his hand to touch Tom's arms. It was glorious, and Harry couldn't believe this was happening, and-

 

A very familiar sound of cough came from the doorway.

 

Startled, both of them jumped out of the kiss.

 

It was Mcgonagall, stanidng where Tom was standing minutes ago, looking at the two of them with an impassive face.

 

Merlin's pants.

 

"Professor Potter, our Gryffindor Quidditch team captain requested some help. Are you available?" asked Mcgonagall, as if nothing has happened.

 

Harry blinked several times before answering, "y- pardon?"

 

"Gryffindor Quidditch team needs you. Are you available, Mr. Potter?

 

Harry gulped, ran a hand through his hair. "Yes, ma'am. Of course."

 

"Good. I will send you the details soon."

 

And just like that, when it seemed like she was leaving, mentioning nothing else as if she hasn't seen anything happen -

 

"Next time, close the door."

 

And with that, she was gone. Harry could swear that before she turned around, he could see a ghost of a smirk around her lips.

 

Harry felt his face burn with embarrassment. What just happened between them was hitting Harry hard. He and Tom kissed, and Mcgonagall saw them maximum ten seconds in. The fact that they were now left by themselves in an office did not help.

 

"Harry," came the voice next to him. Harry looked at Tom. Tom did not look embarrassed at all - the git was smirking. He looked much more relaxed and somewhat satisfied than when Harry had seen him at the door.

 

Tom then put one of his hand around Harry's waist and pulled him closer. Harry went without protest. He knew the door was still open, but his embarrassment was maxed out already.

 

"I have class," said Tom, his beautiful eyes meeting Harry's.

 

"Oh," answered Harry, not knowing what to say.

 

"I wish I could take Mcgonagall's advice and close that door," said Tom as he caressed Harry's cheek with his other hand. "But I have to look presentable to the class."

 

Tom pushed his lower half closer to Harry as he spoke. Harry could feel Tom's erection and its warmth over his robes - and he could feel himself getting firm against it.

 

"How much I want to, you have no idea." Tom whispered next to Harry's ear.

 

Tom kissed Harry's forehead as he reluctantly moved away from Harry's body. Harry looked at Tom, his beautiful green eyes hazed with lust.

 

Tom smiled, turned around, and left for his class, trying his best to hide his erection under his robes.

 

 


End file.
